Sponge also, without hindrance from the
resolute brown horse, the first whip put himself a little in advance, while
old Tom followed with the hounds, and the second whip mingled with the now
increasing field, it being generally understood (by the uninitiated, at
least) that hounds have no business to go home so long as any gentleman is
inclined for a scurrey, no matter whether he has joined early or late. Mr.
Waffles, on the contrary, was very easily satisfied, and never took the
shine off a run with a kill by risking a subsequent defeat. Old Tom, though
keen when others were keen, was not indifferent to his comforts, and soon
came into the way of thinking that it was just as well to get home to his
mutton-chops at two or three o'clock, as to be groping his way about
bottomless bye-roads on dark winter nights.
As he retraced his steps homeward, and overtook the scattered field of the
morning, his talent for invention, or rather stretching, was again called
into requisition.
'What have you done with him, Tom?' asked Major Bouncer, eagerly bringing
his sturdy collar-marked cob alongside of our huntsman.
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