'
'It's Lumpleg!' exclaimed one of the Flat Hat men.
'No, it's not!' roared a Puffingtonite; 'Lumpleg's here.'
'Then it's Charley Slapp; he's always doing it,' rejoined the first
speaker. 'Most jealous man in the world.'
'Is he!' exclaimed Slapp, cantering past at his ease on a thoroughbred
grey, as if he could well afford to dispense with a start.
Reader! it was neither Lumpleg nor Slapp, nor any of the Puffington snobs,
or Flat Hat swells, or Puffington swells, or Flat Hat snobs. It was our old
friend Sponge; Monsieur Tonson again! Having arrived late, he had posted
himself, unseen, by the cover side, and the fox had broke close to him.
Unfortunately, he had headed him back, and a pretty kettle of fish was the
result. Not only had he headed him back, but the resolute chestnut, having
taken it into his head to run away, had snatched the bit between his teeth;
and carried him to the far side of a field ere Sponge managed to
manoere him round on a very liberal semi-circle, and face the now
flying sportsmen, who came hurrying on through the mist like a charge of
yeomanry after a salute.
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