"Here comes old sixteen-string'd Jack!" exclaimed Bob Spangles, as his
brother-in-law, Sir Harry, came hitching and limping along, all strings,
and tapes, and ends, as usual, followed by Mr. Sponge in the strict and
severe order of sporting costume; double-stitched, back-stitched,
sleeve-strapped, pull-devil, pull-baker coat, broad corduroy vest with
fox-teeth buttons, still broader corded breeches, and the redoubtable
vinegar tops. "Now we're all ready!" exclaimed Bob, working his arms as if
anxious to be off, and giving a shrill shilling-gallery whistle with his
fingers, causing the stable-doors to fly open, and the variously tackled
steeds to emerge from their stalls.
"A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!" exclaimed Miss Glitters,
running up as fast as her long habit, or rather Lady Scattercash's long
habit, would allow her. "A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!"
repeated she, diving into the throng.
'White Surrey is saddled for the field,' replied Mr. Orlando Bugles,
drawing himself up pompously, and waving his right hand gracefully towards
her ladyship's Arab palfrey, inwardly congratulating himself that Miss
Glitters was going to be bumped upon it instead of him.
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