'Don't hurry 'em!' cried Mr. Sponge to Miss Glitters, who was acting
whipper-in with rather unnecessary vigour.
As they got under the lee of the hedge, the scent improved a little, and,
from an occasional feathering stern, a hound or two indulged in a whimper,
until at length they fairly broke out in a cry. 'I'll lose a shoe,' said
Watchorn to himself, looking first at the formidable leap before him, and
then to see if there was any one coming up behind. 'I'll lose a shoe,' said
he. 'No notion of lippin' of a navigable river--a downright arm of the
sea,' added he, getting off.
'Forward! forward!' screeched Mr. Sponge, capping the hounds on, when away
they went, heads up and sterns down as before.
'Ay, for-rard! for-rard!' mimicked Mr. Watchorn; adding, 'you're for-rard
enough, at all events.'
After running about three-quarters of a mile at best pace, Mr. Sponge
viewed the fox crossing a large grass field with all the steam up he could
raise, a few hundred yards ahead of the pack, who were streaming along most
beautifully, not viewing, but gradually gaining upon him.
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