244 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



rising in his stirrups, as spruce as a game-cock, with his thorough- 

 bred bay gambolling and pawing with delight at the frolic of the 

 hounds, some clustering around him, others shooting forward a 

 little, as if to show how obediently they would return at his whistle. 

 Mr. Bragg was known as the whistling huntsman, and was a great 

 man for telegraphing and signalising with his arms, boasting that 

 he could make hounds so handy that they could do everything, 

 except pay the turnpike-gates. At his appearance the men all 

 began to shuffle to the passage and entrance-hall, to look for their 

 hats and whips ; and presently there was a great outpouring of red 

 coats upon the lawn, all straddling and waddling of course. Then 

 Mr. Bragg, seeing an audience, with a slight whistle and waive of 

 his right arm, wheeled his forces round, and trotted gaily towards 

 where our guests had grouped themselves, within the light iron 

 railing that separated the smooth slope from the field. As he 

 reined in his horse, he gave his cap an aerial sweep, taking off 

 perpendicularly, and finishing at his horse's ears — an example that 

 was immediately followed by the whips, and also by Mr. Bragg's 

 second horseman, Tom Stofc. 



" Good morning, Mister Bragg ! — Good morning, Mister Bragg ! 

 — Good morning, Mister Bragg !" burst from the assembled specta- 

 tors : for Mr. Bragg was one of those people that one occasionally 

 meets whom everybody " Misters." Mister Bragg, rising in his stir- 

 rups with a gracious smile, passed a very polite bow along the line. 

 " Here's a fine morning, Mr. Bragg," observed Tom Washball, 

 who thought it knowing to talk to servants. 



" Yas, sir," replied Bragg, " yas," with a slight inclination to 

 cap ; " r-a-y-ihev more san, p'raps, than desirable," continued he, 

 raising his face towards the heavens ; " but still by no means a 

 bad day, sir— no, sir — by no means a bad day, sir." 



" Hounds looking well," observed Charley Slapp between the 

 whiffs of a cigar. 



" Yas, sir," said Bragg — " yas," looking around them with a 

 self-satisfied smile; adding, "so they ought, sir— so they ought; if 

 /can't bring a pack out as they should be, don't know who can." 

 " Why, here's our old Rummager, I declare ! " exclaimed 

 Spraggon, who, having vaulted the iron hurdles, was now among 

 the pack. " Why, here's our old Rummager, I declare ! " repeated 

 he, laying his whip on the head of a solemn-looking black and 

 white hound, somewhat down in the toes, and looking as if he was 

 about done. 



" Sc-e-e-use me, sir," replied Bragg, leaning over his horse's 

 shoulder, and whispering into Jack's ear ; " sc-e-e-use me, sir, but 

 drop that, sir, if you please, sir." 



" Drop what? " asked Jack, squinting through his great tortoise- 

 shell-rimmed spectacles up into Bragg's face. 



