Thus he sat with a quick ear, one of the few undamaged organs of his body, cocked to hear if Tom Towler was asked for; when a waiter dropping his name from the landing of the staircase to the hall porter, asking if anybody had seen anything of him, Tom folded up his paper, put it in his pocket, and passing his hand over the few straggling bristles yet sticking about his bald head, proceeded, hat in hand, upstairs to his master's room.
His appearance called forth a round of view halloos! Who-hoops! Tally-ho's! Hark forwards! amidst which, and the waving of napkins, and general noises, Tom proceeded at a twisting, limping, halting, sideways sort of scramble up the room.

His crooked legs didn't seem to have an exact understanding with his body which way they were to go; one, the right one, being evidently inclined to lurch off to the side, while the left one went stamp, stamp, stamp, as if equally determined to resist any deviation.
At length he reached the top of the table, where sat his master, with the glittering Fox's head before him.

Having made a sort of scratch bow, Tom proceeded to stand at ease, as it were, on the left leg, while he placed the late recusant right, which was a trifle shorter, as a prop behind.

No one, to look at the little wizen'd old man in the loose dark frock, baggy striped waistcoat, and patent cord breeches, extending below where the calves of his bow legs ought to have been, would have supposed that it was the noted huntsman and dashing rider, Tom Towler, whose name was celebrated throughout the country.

He might have been a village tailor, or sexton, or barber; anything but a hero.
'Well, Tom,' said Mr.Waffles, taking up the Fox's head, as Tom came to anchor by his side, 'how are you ?' 'Nicely, thank you, sir,' replied Tom, giving the bald head another sweep.
Mr.Waffles.--'What'll you drink ?' Tom.--'Port, if you please, sir.' 'There it is for you, then,' said Mr.Waffles, brimming the Fox's head, which held about the third of a bottle (an inn bottle at least), and handing it to him.
'Gentlemen all,' said Tom, passing his sleeve across his mouth, and casting a side-long glance at the company as he raised the cup to drink their healths.
He quaffed it off at a draught.
'Well, Tom, and what shall we do to-morrow ?' asked Mr.Waffles, as Tom replaced the Fox's head, nose uppermost, on the table.
[Illustration: OLD TOM TOWLER] 'Why, we must draw Ribston Wood fust, I s'pose,' replied Tom, 'and then on to Bradwell Grove, unless you thought well of tryin' Chesterton Common on the road, or--' 'Aye, aye,' interrupted Waffles, 'I know all that; but what I want to know is, whether we can make sure of a run.