It seemed as if there had been a sudden rising of
sportsmen. What brought them all out? What brought Mr. Puffington, the
master of the Hanby hounds, out? What brought Blossomnose again? What Mr.
Wake, Mr. Fossick, Mr. Fyle, who had all been out the day before? Reader,
the news had spread throughout the country that there was a great writer
down; and they wanted to see what he would say of them--they had come to
sit for their portraits, in fact. There was a great gathering, at least for
the Flat Hat Hunt, who seldom mustered above a dozen. Tom Washball came, in
a fine new coat and new flat-fliped hat with a broad binding; also Mr.
Sparks, of Spark Hall; Major Mark; Mr. Archer, of Cheam Lodge; Mr. Reeves,
of Coxwell Green; Mr. Bliss, of Boltonshaw; Mr. Joyce, of Ebstone; Dr.
Capon, of Calcot; Mr. Dribble, of Hook; Mr. Slade, of Three-Burrow Hill;
and several others. Great was the astonishment of each as the other cast
up.
'Why, here's Joe Reeves!' exclaimed Blossomnose. 'Who'd have thought of
seeing you?'
'And who'd have thought of seeing _you_?' rejoined Reeves, shaking hands
with the jolly old nose.
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