'Hang him!--he's never that way!' observed Mr. Sponge, _sotto voce_, to
Miss Glitters. 'He's never that way,' repeated he, seeing how Frantic flung
to the right.
'Twang--twang--twang,' went the horn, but the hounds regarded it not.
'Do, Mr. Sponge, put the hounds to me!' roared Mr. Watchorn, dreading lest
they might hit off the scent.
Mr. Sponge answered the appeal by turning his horse the way the hounds were
feathering, and giving them a slight cheer.
''Ord rot it!' roared Watchorn, '_do_ let 'em alone! that's a _fresh_ fox!
ours is over the 'ill,' pointing towards Bonnyfield Hill.
'Hoop!' hallooed Mr. Sponge, taking off his hat, as Frantic hit off the
scent to the right, and Galloper, and Melody, and all the rest scored to
cry.
'Oh, you confounded brown-bouted beggar!' exclaimed Mr. Watchorn, returning
his horn to its case, and eyeing Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters sailing away
with the again breast-high-scent pack. 'Oh, you exorbitant usurer!'
continued he, gathering his horse to skate after them. 'Well now, that's
the most disgraceful proceedin' I ever saw in the whole course of my life.
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