HUNTS WITH JORROCKS 



Arterxerxes, whose pedigree, perhaps, hasn't 

 been very minutely looked into, soon begins to 

 give unmistakable evidence of satiety. He 

 doesn't seem to care much about the whip, and 

 no longer springs to the spur. He begins to play 

 the castanets too in a way that is anything but 

 musical to Mr. Jorrocks's ear. Our master feels 

 that it will very soon be all U.P. with Arter- 

 xerxes too. 



* Come hup, you snivelling drivellin' son of a 

 lucifer match-maker!' he roars out to Ben, who 

 is coming lagging along in his master's wake. 

 ' Come on ! ' roared he, waving his arm frantically, 

 as, on reaching the top of Ravenswing-scar, he 

 sees the hounds swinging down, like a bundle of 

 clock pendulums, into the valley below. 'Come 

 hup, I say, ye miserable, road-ridiri', dish-lickin' 

 cub ! and give me that quad, for you 're a disgrace 

 to a saddle, and only fit to toast muffins for a 

 young ladies' boardin'-school. Corre hup, you 

 preter-pluperfect tense of 'umbugs ! ' adding, * I 

 wouldn't give tuppence a dozen for such beggarly 



94 



