'Oh, you unsightly, sanctified, idolatrous, Bagnigge-Wells coppersmith, you
think because I'm a lord, and can't swear or use coarse language, that you
may do what you like; rot you, sir, I'll present you with a testimonial!
I'll settle a hundred a year upon you if you'll quit the country. By the
powers, they're away again!' added his lordship, who, with one eye on
Sponge and the other on the pack, had been watching Frosty lifting them
over the bad scenting-ground, till, holding them on to a hedgerow beyond,
they struck the scent on good sound pasture, and went away at score, every
hound throwing his tongue, and filling the air with joyful melody. Away
they swept like a hurricane. 'F-o-o-rard!' was again the cry.
'Hang it. Jack,' exclaimed Lord Scamperdale, laying his hand on his
_double's_ shoulder, as they galloped alongside of each other, 'Hang it,
Jack, see if you can't sarve out this unrighteous, mahogany-booted,
rattle-snake. _Do_ if you die for it!--I'll bury your remainders
genteelly--patent coffin with brass nails, all to yourself--put Frosty and
all the fellows in black, and raise a white marble monument to your memory,
declaring you were the most spotless virtuous man under the sun.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303