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[Illustration: JAWLEYFORD GOING TO THE HUNT]
'You are rather hard on the old nag, aren't you?' at length asked Sponge,
as, having cleared the rushy, swampy park, they came upon the macadamized
turnpike, and Jawleyford selected the middle of it as the scene of his
further progression.
'Oh no!' replied Jawleyford, tit-tup-ing along with a loose rein, as if he
was on the soundest, freshest-legged horse in the world; 'oh no! my horses
are used to it.' 'Well, but if you mean to hunt him,' observed Sponge,
'he'll be blown before he gets to cover.'
'Get him in wind, my dear fellow,' replied Jawleyford, 'get him in wind,'
touching the horse with the spur as he spoke.
'Faith, but if he was as well on his legs as he is in his wind, he'd not be
amiss,' rejoined Sponge.
So they cantered and trotted, and trotted and cantered away, Sponge
thinking he could afford pace as well as Jawleyford. Indeed, a horse has
only to become a hack, to be able to do double the work he was ever
supposed to be capable of.
But to the meet.


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