'Beg pardon, sir,' blurted Sponge; 'my horse--'
'Hang your horse!' screamed his lordship; 'it wasn't your horse that headed
the fox, was it?'
'Beg pardon--couldn't help it; I--'
'Couldn't help it. Hang your helps--you're _always_ doing it, sir. You
could stay at home, sir--I s'pose, sir--couldn't you, sir? eh, sir?'
Sponge was silent.
'See, sir!' continued his lordship, pointing to the mute pack now following
the huntsman, 'you've lost us our fox, sir--yes, sir, lost us our
fox, sir. D'ye call that nothin', sir? If you don't, _I_ do, you
perpendicular-looking Puseyite pig-jobber! By Jove! you think because I'm a
lord, and can't swear, or use coarse language, that you may do what you
like--but I'll take my hounds home, sir--yes, sir, I'll take my hounds
home, sir.' So saying, his lordship roared HOME to Frostyface;
adding, in an undertone to the first whip, 'bid him go to Furzing-field
gorse.'
CHAPTER XXI
A COUNTRY DINNER-PARTY
[Illustration]
'Well, what sport?' asked Jawleyford, as he encountered his exceedingly
dirty friend crossing the entrance hall to his bedroom on his return from
his day, or rather his non-day, with the 'Flat Hat Hunt.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253