IIP. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUIi. 177 



" I say neat," rejoined Sponge, helping himself out of the 

 French bottle. 



" You'll be hard to hold after that," observed Jack, as he eyed 

 Sponge tossing it off. 



" I hope my horse won't." replied Sponge, remembering he wm 

 going to ride the resolute chestnut. 



" You'll show us the way, I dare say," observed Jack. 



" Shouldn't wonder," replied Sponge, helping himself to a second 

 glass. 



" What! at it again ! " exclaimed Jack, adding, "Take care you 

 don't ride over my lord." 



" I'll take care of the old file," said Sponge ; " it wouldn't do to 

 kill the goose that lays the golden what-do-ye-call-'ems, vou know 

 -he, he, he ! " 



" No," chuckled Jack ; " 'deed it wouldn't — must make the 

 most of him." 



" What sort of a humour is he in to-day ?" asked Sponge. 



" Middlin'," replied Jack, " middlin' ; he'll abuse you most 

 likely, but that you mustn't mind." 



"Not I," replied Sponge, who was used to that sort of thing. 



" You mustn't mind me either," observed Jack, sweeping the 

 last piece of sausage into his mouth with his knife, and jumping 

 up from the table. " When his lordship rows I row," added he, 

 diving under the side-table for his flat hat. 



"Hark! there's the horn !" exclaimed Sponge, rushing to the 

 window. 



" So there is," responded Jack, standing transfixed on one leg 

 to the spot. 



" By the powers, they're away ! " exclaimed Sponge, as his lord- 

 ship was seen hat in hand careering over the meadow, beyond the 

 cover, with the tail hounds straining to overtake their flying 

 comrades. Twang — twang — twang went Frostyface's horn ; 

 crack — crack — crack — went the ponderous thongs of the whips ; 

 shouts, and yells, and yelps, and whoops, and holloas, proclaimed 

 the usual wild excitement of this privileged period of the chase. 

 All was joy save among the gourmands assembled at the door — 

 they looked blank indeed. 



"What a sell!" exclaimed Sponge, in disgust, who, with Jack, 

 saw the hopelessness of the case. 



" Yonder he goes ! " exclaimed a lad, who had run up from the 

 cover to see the hunt from the rising ground. 



" Where ? " exclaimed Sponge, straining his eye-balls. 



" There ! " said the lad, pointing due south. " D'ye see Tommy 

 Claychop's pasture ? Now he's through the hedge and into Mrs. 

 Starveland's turnip-field, making right for Bramblebrake Wood on 

 the hill." 



