'
'Ah! Cockthropple that would be,' observed Sir Harry.
'Dare say,' replied Mr. Sponge; 'Cock-anything-you-like-to-call-it for me.
Well, when we got there, I thought we should have some breathing time, for
the fox would be sure to hug it. But no; no sooner had I got there than a
countryman hallooed him away on the far side. I got to the halloo as quick
as I could, and just as I was blowing the horn,' producing Watchorn's from
his pocket as he spoke; 'for I must tell you,' said he, 'that when I saw
the huntsman's horse was beat, I took this from him--a horn to a foot
huntsman being of no more use, you know, than a side-pocket to a cow, or a
frilled shirt to a pig. Well, as I was tootleing the horn for hard life,
who should turn out of the wood but old mealy-mouth himself, as you call
him, and a pretty volley of abuse he let drive at me.'
'No doubt,' hiccuped Sir Harry; 'but what was _he_ doing there?'
'Oh! I should tell you,' replied Mr. Sponge, 'his hounds had run a fox into
it, and were on him full cry when I got there.
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