38 MB. SPONGE'S SPOUTING TOUR. 



fall, his collar-bone fractured, his left leg broken and his right arm 

 ditto, to say nothing of damage to his ribs, fingers, and feet, and 

 having had his face scarified like pork by repeated brushings 

 through strong thorn fences. 



But we will describe him as he appeared before Mr. Waffles, and 

 the gentlemen of the Laverick Wells Hunt, on the night of Mr. 

 Sponge's arrival. Tom's spirit being roused at hearing the boast- 

 ings of Mr. Leather, and thinking, perhaps, his master might 

 have something to say, or thinking, perhaps, to partake of the 

 eleemosynary drink generally going on in large houses of publio 

 entertainment, had taken up his quarters in the bar of the 

 " Imperial," where he was attentively perusing the " meets " in 

 Bell's Life, reading how the Atherstone met at Gopsall, the Bedale 

 at Hornby, the Cottesmore at Tilton Wood, and so on, with an 

 industry worthy of a better cause ; for Tom neither knew country, 

 nor places, nor masters, nor hounds, nor huntsmen, nor anything, 

 though he still felt an interest in reading where they were going 

 to hunt. 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 stair- 

 case 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 dash ing 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- 

 Torn came to anchor by his side, " how are you ? " 



