His companion, Mr. Watchorn, is very great, and hardly condescends to know
the country people who claim his acquaintance as a huntsman. He is a Hotel
Keeper--master of the Hen Angel, Newington Butts. Enoch Wriggle stands
beside them, dressed in the imposing style of a cockney sportsman. He has
been puffing 'Sir Danapalus (the Bart.)' in public, and taking all the odds
he can get against him in private. Watchorn knows that it is easier to make
a horse lose than win. The restless-looking, lynx-eyed caitiff, in the
dirty green shawl, with his hands stuffed into the front pockets of the
brown tarriar coat, is their jockey, the renowned Captain Hangallows; he
answers to the name of Sam Slick in Mr. Spavin the horse-dealer's yard in
Oxford Street, when not in the country on similar excursions to the
present. And now in the throng on the principal line are two conspicuous
horses--a piebald and a white--carrying Mr. Sponge and Lucy Glitters. Lucy
appears as she did on the frosty-day hunt, glowing with health and beauty,
and rather straining the seams of Lady Scattercash's habit with the
additional _embonpoint_ she has acquired by early hours in the country.
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