MR. sponge's sporting tour. 133 



hadn't a tail," retorted Jawleyford, nettled at the tone in which Jack 

 had addressed him. 



" Tail be ! " replied Jack, with a sneer ; " who but a tailor 



would call it a tail ? " 



Just then a light low squeak of a whimper was heard in the 

 thickest part of- the gorse, and Frostyface cheered the hound to the 

 echo. " Hoick to Pillager ! H — o — o — ick I " screamed he, in a 

 long-drawn note, that thrilled through every frame, and set the horses 

 a-capering. 



Ere Frosty's prolonged screech was fairly finished, there was such 

 an outburst of melody, and such a shaking of the gorse-bushes, as 

 plainly showed there was no safety for Reynard in cover ; and great 

 was the bustle and commotion among the horsemen. Mr. Fossick 

 lowered his hat-string and ran the fox's tooth through the button- 

 hole ; Fyle drew his girths ; Washball took a long swig at his hunt- 

 ing-horn-shaped monkey ; Major Mark and Mr. Archer threw away 

 their cigar ends ; Mr. Bliss drew on his dogskin gloves ; Mr. Wake 

 rolled the thong of his whip round the stick, to be better able to en- 

 counter his puller; Mr. Sparks got a yokel to take up a link of his 

 curb ; George Smith and Joe Smith looked at their watches ; Sandy 

 McGregor, the factor, filled his great Scotch nose with Irish snuff, 

 exclaiming, as he dismissed the balance from 'his fingers by a knock 

 against his thigh, " Oh, my mon, aw think this tod will gie us a 

 ran ! " while Blossomnose might be seen stealing gently forward, on 

 the far side of a thick fence, for the double purpose of shirking Jaw- 

 leyford, and getting a good start. 



In the midst of these and similar preparations for the fray, up 

 went a whip's cap at the low end of the cover ; and a volley of 

 " Tallyhos " burst from our friends, as the fox, whisking his white 

 tipped brush in the air, was seen stealing away over the grassy hill 

 beyond. What a commotion was there ! How pale some looked ! 

 How happy others ! 



" Sing out, Jack ! for heaven 1 s sake, sing out! " exclaimed Lord 

 Scamperdale; an enthusiastic sportsman, always as eager for a run as 

 if he had never seen one. " Sing out, Jack; or, by Jove, they'll 

 over-ride 'em at starting ! " 



" Hold hard, gentlemen," roared Jack, clapping spurs into his 

 grey, or rather into his lordship's grey, dashing in front, and drawing 

 the horse across the road to stop the progression of the field. " Hold 

 hard, one minute ! " repeated Jack, standing erect in his stirrups, 

 and menacing them with his whip (a most formidable one). " What- 

 ever you do, pray let them get away ! Pray don't spoil your own 

 sport ! Pray remember they're his lordship's hounds ! — that they 

 cost him five-and-twenty underd — two thousand five underd a year ! 

 And where, let me ax, with wheat clown to nothing, would you get 

 another, if he was to throw up ? " 



