Sponge; 'for there wasn't a
soul there but myself, much to my horror, for I had a reg'lar row with old
Scamperdale, and never a soul to back me.'
'What! you fell in with that mealy-mouthed gentleman, who can't (hiccup)
swear because he's a (hiccup) lord, did you?' asked Sir Harry, his
attention being now drawn to our friend.
'_I did_,' replied Mr. Sponge; 'and a pretty passage of politeness we had
of it.'
'Indeed! (hiccup),' exclaimed Sir Harry. 'Tell us (hiccup) all about it.'
'Well,' said Mr. Sponge, laying the brush lengthways before him on the
table, as if he was going to demonstrate upon it. 'Well, you see we had a
devil of a run--I don't know how many miles, as hard as ever we could lay
legs to the ground; one by one the field all dropped astern, except the
huntsman and myself. At last he gave in, or rather his horse did, and I was
left alone in my glory. Well, we went over the downs at a pace that nothing
but blood could live with, and, though my horse has never been beat, and is
as thorough-bred as Eclipse--a horse that I have refused three hundred
guineas for over and over again, I really did begin to think I might get to
the bottom of him, when all of a sudden we came to a dean.
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