It
was the appearance of a magnificent cold round of home-fed beef, red with
saltpetre and flaky with white fat, borne on high by their host, that
elicited the applause and the one cheer more that broke on Mr. Sponge's ear
as he was passing--applause that was renewed as they caught a glimpse of
his red coat, not on account of his safety or that of the hounds, but
simply because being in the cheering mood, they were ready to cheer
anything.
'Hil-loo! there's Mr. What's-his-name!' exclaimed brother Bob Spangles, as
he caught view of Sponge and the hounds passing the window.
'So there is!' roared another; 'Hoo-ray!'
'Hoo-ray!' yelled two or three more.
'Stop him!' cried another.
'Call him in,' roared Sir Harry, 'and let's liquor him.'
'Hilloo! Mister What's-your-name!' exclaimed the other Spangles, throwing
up the window. 'Hilloo, won't you come in and have some refreshment?'
'Who's there?' asked Mr. Sponge, reining in the brown.
'Oh, we're all here,' shouted brother Bob Spangles, holding up a tumbler of
hot brandy-and-water; 'we're all here--Sir Harry and all,' added he.
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