So
thought Mr. Sponge as he dived into it, astonished at the chorus and echo
of the hounds.
[Illustration: 'HE'S AWAY!--REET 'CROSS TORNOPS']
'Tally ho!' shouted a countryman on the opposite side; and the road Sponge
had taken being favourable to the point, he made for it at a hand-gallop,
horn in hand, to blow as soon as he got there.
'He's away!' cried the man as soon as our friend appeared; 'reet 'cross
tornops!' added he, pointing with his hoe.
Mr. Sponge then put his horse's head that way, and blew a long shrill
reverberating blast. As he paused to take breath and listen, he heard the
sound of horses' hoofs, and presently a stentorian voice, half frantic with
rage, exclaimed from behind:
'WHO THE DICKENS ARE YOU?'
'Who the Dickens are you?' retorted Mr. Sponge, without looking round.
'They commonly call me the EARL OF SCAMPERDALE,' roared the same
sweet voice, 'and those are my hounds.'
'They're not your hounds!' snapped Mr. Sponge, now looking round on his
big-spectacled, flat-hatted lordship, who was closely followed by his
double, Mr.
Pages:
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724