CHARLES CARRINGTON, ESQ. 107 



asked Lord Wildrace, as they were smoking their 

 cigars close to the hounds, who were drawn up on 

 a bit of greensward, giving the ten minutes' law for 

 the late comers. 



" It has never yet been drawn blank," returned 

 the Captain. " Ah ! there goes Slowman with the 

 hounds. Time's up." 



Cigar ends were now thrown away, girths 

 tightened, stirrup-leathers shortened or let down. 



The Captain stole into cover, and then galloped 

 away to the far end. 



Presently a ringing tally-ho was heard. 



" Found quickly," growled Jack Spraggon, as he 

 bustled along on Daddy Longlegs to get a good 

 place. 



" That's your sort, old cock ! " ejaculated Sponge, 

 as he dashed past him on Hercules, throwing a lot 

 of mud on Jack's spectacles from his horse's 

 hoofs. 



" Oh, you unrighteous snob ! — you rusty-booted 

 Cockney ! " exclaimed Spraggon, rubbing at his 

 spectacles with the back of his gloved hand, thereby 

 daubing the mud all over the glasses, and making it 

 worse. " Just like you, you dockecl-tail humbug ! " 



Too-too went Slowman's horn. " Give 'em time, 

 gentlemen — give 'em time !" he screamed, as he took 

 the wattled fence from the spinny into the fallow 



