Fyle, Lord
Scamperdale, Jack himself, and others. Great was their astonishment at the
apparition, and incoherent the observations they dropped as they galloped
on.
'It isn't Wash, after all,' whispered Fyle into Blossomnose's ear, as they
rode through a gate together.
'No-o-o,' replied the nose, eyeing Sponge intently.
'What a coat!' whispered one.
'Jacket,' replied the other.
'Lost his brush,' observed a third, winking at Sponge's docked tail.
'He's going to ride over us all,' snapped Mr. Fossick, whom Sponge passed
at a hand-canter, as the former was blobbing and floundering about the deep
ruts leading out of a turnip-field.
'He'll catch it just now,' said Mr. Wake, eyeing Sponge drawing upon his
lordship and Jack, as they led the field as usual. Jack being at a
respectful distance behind his great patron, espied Sponge first; and
having taken a good stare at him through his formidable spectacles, to
satisfy himself that it was nobody he knew--a stare that Sponge returned as
well as a man without spectacles can return the stare of one with--Jack
spurred his horse up to his lordship, and rising in his stirrups, shot into
his ear--
'Why, here's the man on the cow!' adding, 'it isn't Washey.
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