But I don't think the fox likes it much.

It once happened to me to be hunted, and I know I did not like it." This was rather startling, and had Mr.Fortescue spoken less gravely and not been so obviously in earnest, I should have thought he was joking.
"You don't mean--Was it a paper-chase ?" I said, rather foolishly.
"No; it was not a paper-chase," he answered, grimly.

"There were no paper-chases in my time.

I mean that I was once hunted, just as we have been hunting that fox." "With a pack of hounds ?" "Yes, with a pack of hounds." I was about to ask what sort of a chase it was, and how and where he was hunted, when Cuffe came up, and, on behalf of the master, offered Mr.
Fortescue the brush.
"Thank you," said Mr.Fortescue, taking the brush and handing it to Rawlings.

"Here is something for you"-- tipping the huntsman a sovereign, which he put in his pocket with a "Thank you kindly, sir," and a gratified smile.
And then flasks were uncorked, sandwich-cases opened, cigars lighted, and the conversation becoming general, I had no other opportunity--at that time--of making further inquiry of Mr.Fortescue touching the singular episode in his career which he had just mentioned.