'Almost over head,' replied Sponge. 'Scamperdale saw me going, and hadn't
the grace to halloa.'
'Ah, that's like him,' replied Mr. Puffington, 'that's like him: there's
nothing pleases him so much as getting fellows into grief.'
'Not very polite to a stranger,' observed Mr. Sponge.
'No, it isn't,' replied Mr. Puffington, 'no, it isn't; far from it
indeed--far from it; but, low be it spoken,' added he, 'his lordship is
only a roughish sort of customer.'
'So he is,' replied Mr. Sponge, who thought it fine to abuse a nobleman.
'The fact is,' said Mr. Puffington, 'these Flat Hat chaps are all snobs.
They think there are no such fine fellows as themselves under the sun; and
if ever a stranger looks near them, they make a point of being as rude and
disagreeable to him as they possibly can. This is what they call keeping
the hunt select.' 'Indeed,' observed Mr. Sponge, recollecting how they had
complimented him, adding, 'they seem a queer set.'
'There's a fellow they call "Jack,"' observed Mr. Puffington, 'who acts as
a sort of bulldog to his lordship, and worries whoever his lordship sets
him upon.
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