Sponge dryly.
'Hunt (puff)! so we are (wheeze); but there are no hounds (gasp). My good
(puff) man,' continued he, addressing a smock-frocked countryman, who now
came up, 'have you seen anything of the (wheeze) hounds?'
'E-e-s,' replied the man. 'They be gone to Brookdale Plantin'.'
'Then we'd better (puff) after them,' said Jog, running the stick through
the apron-straps, and bundling into the phaeton with the long one in his
hand.
Away they rattled and jingled as before.
'How far is it?' asked Mr. Sponge, vexed at the detention.
'Oh (puff), close by (wheeze),' replied Jog.
'Close by,' as most of our sporting readers well know to their cost, is
generally anything but close by. Nor was Jog's close by, close by on this
occasion.
'There,' said Jog, after they had got crawled up Trampington Hill; 'that's
it (puff) to the right, by the (wheeze) water there,' pointing to a
plantation about a mile off, with a pond shining at the end.
Just as Mr. Sponge caught view of the water, the twang of a horn was heard,
and the hounds came pouring, full cry, out of cover, followed by about
twenty variously clad horsemen, and our friend had the satisfaction of
seeing them run clean out of sight, over as fine a country as ever was
crossed.
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