47 



ribs, fingers, and feet, and having had his face scarified like pork by 

 repeated brushing 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 eleemosy- 

 nary drink generally going on in large houses of public entertain- 

 ment, had taken up his quarters in the bar of the " Imperial," where 

 he was attentively perusing the " meets " in BelVs 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 staircase 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, up stairs to his master's 

 room. 



His appearance called forth a round of view halloos ! Who- 

 hoops ! Talty-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 

 oif 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 dashing 

 rider, Tom Towler, whose name was celebrated throughout the coun- 

 try. He might have been a village tailor, or sexton, or barber ; any- 

 thiDg but a hero." 



" Well, Tom," said Mr. Waffles, taking up the Fox's head, as Tom 

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



" Nicely, thank you, sir," replied Tom, giving the bald head 

 another sweep. 



Mr. Waffles.—" What'll you drink ? " 



