250 



MB. SPONGE'S SPORTING TO VII. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 



A RUNNING WRITER. 



WETTING A HUN. 



HE first fumes 

 of excitement 

 over, after a 

 run with a 

 kill, the field 

 begin to take 

 things more 

 coolly and 

 veraciously, 

 and ere long 

 some of them 

 begin to pick 

 holes in the 

 affair. The 

 men of the 

 hunt run it 

 up, while those of the next hunt run it down. Added to this there 

 are generally some cavilling, captious fellows in every field, who 

 extol a run to the master's face, and abuse it behind his back. So 

 it was on the present occasion. The men of the hunt — Charley 

 Slapp, Lumpleg, Guano, Crane, Washball, and others — lauded and 

 magnified it into something magnificent ; while Fossick, Fyle, 

 Wake, Blossomnose, and others of the "flat-hat hunt," pronounced 

 it a niceish thing— a pretty burst ; and Mr. Vosper, who had 

 hunted for five-and-twenty seasons without ever suhscribing one 

 farthing to hounds, always declaring that each season was " his 

 last," or that he was going to confine himself entirely to some 

 other pack, said it was nothing to make a row about, that he had 

 seen fifty better things with the Tinglebury harriers, and never a 

 word said. 



" Well," said Sponge to Spraggon, between the whiffs of a cigar, 

 as they rode together ; " it wasn't so bad, was it ? " 



" Bad ! — no," squinted Jack, " devilish good — for Puff, at 

 least," adding, " I question he's had a better this season." 



" Well, avc are in luck," observed Tom Washball, riding up and 

 joining them ; " we are in luck to have a satisfactory thing with 

 you great connoisseurs out." 



" A pretty thing enough," replied Jack, " pretty thing 

 enouirh." 



