Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

by Robert Smith Surtees

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE GREAT RUN

  Our hero having inveigled the brown under lee of an out-house as the fieldmoved along, was fortunate enough to achieve the saddle without disclosingthe secrets of the stable; and as he rejoined the throng in all the prideof shape, action, and condition, even the top-sawyers, Fossick, Fyle,Bliss, and others, admitted that Hercules was not a bad-like horse; whilethe humbler-minded ones eyed Sponge with a mixture of awe and envy,thinking what a fine trade literature must be to stand such a horse.

  'Is your friend What's-his-name, a workman?' asked Lord Scamperdale,nodding towards Sponge as he trotted Hercules gently past on the turf bythe side of the road along which they were riding.

  'Oh no,' replied Jawleyford tartly. 'Oh no--gentleman, man of property--'

  'I did not mean was he a mechanic,' explained his lordship drily, 'but aworkman; a good 'un across country, in fact.' His lordship working his armsas if he was going to set-to himself.

  'Oh, a first-rate man!--first-rate man!' replied Jawleyford; 'beat them allat Laverick Wells.'

  'I thought so,' observed his lordship; adding to himself, 'then Jack shalltake the conceit out of him.'

  'Jack!' halloaed he over his shoulder to his friend, who was jogging alittle behind; 'Jack!' repeated he, 'that Mr. Something--'

  '_Sponge_!' observed Jawleyford, with an emphasis.

  'That Mr. Sponge,' continued his lordship, 'is a stranger in the country:have the kindness to take _care_ of him. You know what I mean?'

  'Just so,' replied Jack; 'I'll take care of him.'

  'Most polite of your lordship, I'm sure,' said Jawleyford, with a low bow,and laying his hand on his breast. 'I can assure you I shall never forgetthe marked attention I have received from your lordship this day.'

  'Thank you for nothing,' grunted his lordship to himself.

  Bump, bump; trot, trot; jabber, jabber, on they went as before.

  They had now got to the cover, Tickler Gorse, and ere the last horsemen hadreached the last angle of the long hill, Frostyface was rolling about onfoot in the luxuriant evergreen; now wholly visible, now all but overhead,like a man buffeting among the waves of the sea. Save Frosty's cheery voiceencouraging the invisible pack to 'wind him!' and 'rout him out!' aninjunction that the shaking of the gorse showed they willingly obeyed, andan occasional exclamation from Jawleyford, of 'Beautiful! beautiful!--neversaw better hounds!--can't be a finer pack!' not a sound disturbed thestillness of the scene. The waggoners on the road stopped their wains, thelate noisy ploughmen leaned vacantly on their stilts, the turnip-pullersstood erect in air, and the shepherds' boys deserted the bleatingflocks;--all was life and joy and liberty--'Liberty, equality, andfoxhunt-ity!'

  'Yo--i--cks, wind him! Y--o--o--icks! rout him out!' went Frosty;occasionally varying the entertainment with a loud crack of his heavy whip,when he could get upon a piece of rising ground to clear the thong.

  'Tally-ho!' screamed Jawleyford, hoisting the Bumperkin Yeomanry cap in theair. 'Tally-ho!' repeated he, looking triumphantly round, as much as tosay, 'What a clever boy am I!'

  'Hold your noise!' roared Jack, who was posted a little below. 'Don't yousee it's a hare?' added he, amidst the uproarious mirth of the company.

  'I haven't your great staring specs on, or I should have seen he hadn't atail,' retorted Jawleyford, nettled at the tone in which Jack had addressedhim.

  'Tail be--!' replied Jack, with a sneer; 'who but a tailor would call it atail?'

  Just then a light low squeak of a whimper was heard in the thickest part ofthe gorse, and Frostyface cheered the hound to the echo. 'Hoick to,Pillager! H--o--o--ick!' screamed he, in a long-drawn note, that thrilledthrough every frame, and set the horses a-capering.

  Ere Frosty's prolonged screech was fairly finished, there was such anoutburst of melody, and such a shaking of the gorse-bushes, as plainlyshowed there was no safety for Reynard in cover; and great was the bustleand commotion among the horsemen. Mr. Fossick lowered his hat-string andran the fox's tooth through the buttonhole; Fyle drew his girths; Washballtook a long swig at his hunting-horn-shaped monkey; Major Mark and Mr.Archer threw away their cigar ends; Mr. Bliss drew on his dogskin gloves;Mr. Wake rolled the thong of his whip round the stick, to be better able toencounter his puller; Mr. Sparks got a yokel to take up a link of his curb;George Smith and Joe Smith looked at their watches; Sandy McGregor, thefactor, filled his great Scotch nose with Irish snuff, exclaiming, as hedismissed the balance from his fingers by a knock against his thigh, 'Oh,my mon, aw think this tod will gie us a ran!' while Blossomnose might beseen stealing gently forward, on the far side of a thick fence, for thedouble purpose of shirking Jawleyford and getting a good start.

  In the midst of these and similar preparations for the fray, up went awhip's cap at the low end of the cover; and a volley of 'Tallyhos' burstfrom our friends, as the fox, whisking his white-tipped brush in the air,was seen stealing away over the grassy hill beyond. What a commotion wasthere! How pale some looked! How happy others!

  'Sing out, Jack! for heaven's sake, sing out!' exclaimed Lord Scamperdale;an enthusiastic sportsman, always as eager for a run as if he had neverseen one. 'Sing out. Jack; or, by Jove, they'll override 'em at starting!'

  'HOLD HARD, gentlemen,' roared Jack, clapping spurs into his grey,or rather, into his lordship's grey, dashing in front, and drawing thehorse across the road to stop the progression of the field. 'HOLDHARD, _one minute_!' repeated Jack, standing erect in his stirrups,and menacing them with his whip (a most formidable one). 'Whatever you do,_pray_ let them get away! _Pray_ don't spoil your own sport! Pray rememberthey're his lordship's hounds!--that they cost him five-and-twentyunder'd--two thousand five under'd a year! And where, let me ax, with wheatdown to nothing, would you get another, if he was to throw up?'

  As Jack made this inquiry, he took a hurried glance at the now pouring-outpack; and seeing they were safe away, he wiped the foam from his mouth onhis sleeve, dropped into his saddle, and, catching his horse short round bythe head, clapped spurs into his sides, and galloped away, exclaiming:

  'Now, ye tinkers, we'll all start fair!'

  Then there was such a scrimmage! such jostling and elbowing among thejealous ones; such ramming and cramming among the eager ones; suchpardon-begging among the polite ones; such spurting of ponies, suchclambering of cart-horses. All were bent on going as far as they could--allexcept Jawleyford, who sat curvetting and prancing in the patronizing sortof way gentlemen do who encourage hounds for the sake of the manly spiritthe sport engenders, and the advantage hunting is of in promoting ourunrivalled breed of horses.

  His lordship having slipped away, horn in hand, under pretence of blowingthe hounds out of cover, as soon as he set Jack at the field, had now got agood start, and, horse well in hand, was sailing away in their wake.

  'F-o-o-r-r-ard!' screamed Frostyface, coming up alongside of him, holdinghis horse--a magnificent thoroughbred bay--well by the head, and settlinghimself into his saddle as he went.

  'F-o-r-rard!' screeched his lordship, thrusting his spectacles on to hisnose.

  'Twang--twang--twang,' went the huntsman's deep-sounding horn.

  'T'weet--t'weet--t'weet,' went his lordship's shriller one.

  'In for a stinger, my lurd,' observed Jack, returning his horn to the case.

  'Hope so,' replied his lordship, pocketing his.

  They then flew the first fence together.

  'F-o-r-r-ard!' screamed Jack in the air, as he saw the hounds packing welltogether, and racing with a breast-high scent.

  'F-o-r-rard!' screamed his lordship, who was a sort of echo to hishuntsman, just as Jack Spraggon was echo to his lordship.

  'He's away for Gunnersby Craigs,' observed Jack, pointing that way, forthey were a good ten miles off.

  'Hope so,' replied his lordship, for whom the distance could never be toogreat, provided the pace corresponded.

  'F-o-o-r-rard!' screamed Jack.

  'F-o-r-rard!' screeched his lordship.r />
  So they went flying and 'forrarding' together; none of the field--thanks toJack Spraggon--being able to overtake them.

  'Y-o-o-nder he goes!' at last cried Frosty, taking off his cap as he viewedthe fox, some half-mile ahead, stealing away round the side of NewingtonHill.

  'Tallyho!' screeched his lordship, riding with his flat hat in the air, byway of exciting the striving field to still further exertion.

  'He's a good 'un!' exclaimed Frosty, eyeing the fox's going.

  'He is that!' replied his lordship, staring at him with all his might.

  Then they rode on, and were presently rounding Newington Hill themselves,the hounds packing well together, and carrying a famous head.

  His lordship now looked to see what was going on behind.

  Scrambleford Hill was far in the rear. Jawleyford and the boy in blue werealtogether lost in the distance. A quarter of a mile or so this way were acouple of dots of horsemen, one on a white, the other on a darkcolour--most likely Jones, the keeper, and Farmer Stubble, on the foalymare. Then, a little nearer, was a man in a hedge, trying to coax his horseafter him, stopping the way of two boys in white trousers, whose ponieslooked like rats. Again, a little nearer, were some of the perseveringones--men who still hold on in the forlorn hopes of a check--alldark-coated, and mostly trousered. Then came the last of the red-coats--TomWashball, Charley Joyce, and Sam Sloman, riding well in the first flight ofsecond horsemen--his lordship's pad-groom, Mr. Fossick's man in drab with agreen collar, Mr. Wake's in blue, also a lad in scarlet and a flat hat,with a second horse for the huntsman. Drawing still nearer came theruck--men in red, men in brown, men in livery, a farmer or two in fustian,all mingled together; and a few hundred yards before these, and close uponhis lordship, were the _elite_ of the field--five men in scarlet and one inblack. Let us see who they are. By the powers, Mr. Sponge is first!--Spongesailing away at his ease, followed by Jack, who is staring at him throughhis great lamps, longing to launch out at him, but as yet wanting anexcuse; Sponge having ridden with judgement--judgement, at least, ineverything except in having taken the lead of Jack. After Jack comes oldblack-booted Blossomnose; and Messrs. Wake, Fossick, and Fyle, complete ourcomplement of five. They are all riding steadily and well; all very irate,however, at the stranger for going before them, and ready to back Jack inanything he may say or do.

  On, on they go; the hounds still pressing forward, though not carryingquite so good a head as before. In truth, they have run four miles intwenty minutes; pretty good going anywhere except upon paper, where theyalways go unnaturally fast. However, there they are, still pressing on,though with considerably less music than before.

  After rounding Newington Hill, they got into a wilder and worse sort ofcountry, among moorish, ill-cultivated land, with cold unwholesome-lookingfallows. The day, too, seemed changing for the worse; a heavy black cloudhanging overhead. The hounds were at length brought to their noses.

  His lordship, who had been riding all eyes, ears, and fears, foresaw theprobability of this; and pulling-to his horse, held up his hand, the usualsignal for Jack to 'sing out' and stop the field. Sponge saw the signal,but, unfortunately, Hercules didn't; and tearing along with his head to theground, resolutely bore our friend not only past his lordship, but right onto where the now stooping pack were barely feathering on the line.

  Then Jack and his lordship sang out together.

  '_Hold hard!_' screeched his lordship, in a dreadful state of excitement.

  'HOLD HARD!' thundered Jack.

  Sponge _was_ holding hard--hard enough to split the horse's jaws, but thebeast would go on, notwithstanding.

  'By the powers, he's among 'em again!' shouted his lordship, as theresolute beast, with his upturned head almost pulled round to Sponge'sknee, went star-gazing on like the blind man in Regent Street. 'Sing out.Jack! sing out! for heaven's sake sing out,' shrieked his lordship,shutting his eyes, as he added, 'or he'll kill every man jack of them.'

  'NOW, SUR!' roared Jack, 'can't you steer that 'ere aggravatin'quadruped of yours?'

  'Oh, you pestilential son of a pontry-maid!' screeched his lordship, asBrilliant ran yelping away from under Sponge's horse's feet. 'Sing out.Jack! sing out!' gasped his lordship again.

  'Oh, you scandalous, hypocritical, rusty-booted, numb-handed son of apuffing corn-cutter, why don't you turn your attention to feeding hens,cultivating cabbages, or making pantaloons for small folk, instead ofkilling hounds in this wholesale way?' roared Jack; an inquiry that set himfoaming again.

  'Oh, you unsightly, sanctified, idolatrous, Bagnigge-Wells coppersmith, youthink because I'm a lord, and can't swear or use coarse language, that youmay do what you like; rot you, sir, I'll present you with a testimonial!I'll settle a hundred a year upon you if you'll quit the country. By thepowers, they're away again!' added his lordship, who, with one eye onSponge and the other on the pack, had been watching Frosty lifting themover the bad scenting-ground, till, holding them on to a hedgerow beyond,they struck the scent on good sound pasture, and went away at score, everyhound throwing his tongue, and filling the air with joyful melody. Awaythey swept like a hurricane. 'F-o-o-rard!' was again the cry.

  'Hang it. Jack,' exclaimed Lord Scamperdale, laying his hand on his_double's_ shoulder, as they galloped alongside of each other, 'Hang it,Jack, see if you can't sarve out this unrighteous, mahogany-booted,rattle-snake. _Do_ if you die for it!--I'll bury your remaindersgenteelly--patent coffin with brass nails, all to yourself--put Frosty andall the fellows in black, and raise a white marble monument to your memory,declaring you were the most spotless virtuous man under the sun.'

  'Let me off dining with Jaw, and I'll do my best,' replied Jack.

  'Done!' screamed his lordship, flourishing his right arm in the air, as heflew over a great stone wall.

  A good many of the horses and sportsmen too had had enough before thehounds checked; and the quick way Frosty lifted them and hit off the scent,did not give them much time to recruit. Many of them now sat hat in hand,mopping, and puffing, and turning their red perspiring faces to the wind.'Poough,' gasped one, as if he was going to be sick; 'Puff,' went another;'Oh! but it's 'ot!' exclaimed a third, pulling off his limp neckcloth;'Wonder if there's any ale hereabouts,' cried a fourth; 'Terrible run!'observed a fifth; 'Ten miles at least,' gasped another. Meanwhile thehounds went streaming on; and it is wonderful how soon those who don'tfollow are left hopelessly in the rear.

  Of the few that did follow, Mr. Sponge, however, was one. Nothing dauntedby the compliments that had been paid him, he got Hercules well in hand;and the horse dropping again on the bit, resumed his place in front, goingas strong and steadily as ever. Thus he went, throwing the mud in thefaces of those behind, regardless of the oaths and imprecations thatfollowed; Sponge knowing full well they would do the same by him if theycould.

  'All jealousy,' said Sponge, spurring his horse. 'Never saw such a jealousset of dogs in my life.'

  An accommodating lane soon presented itself, along which they all pounded,with the hounds running parallel through the enclosures on the left; Spongesending such volleys of pebbles and mud in his rear as made it advisable tokeep a good way behind him. The line was now apparently for FirlinghamWoods; but on nearing the thatched cottage on Gasper Heath, the fox, mostlikely being headed, had turned short to the right; and the chase now layover Sheeplow Water meadows, and so on to Bolsover brick-fields, when thepack again changed from hunting to racing, and the pace for a time wassevere. His lordship having got his second horse at the turn, was ready forthe tussle, and plied away vigorously, riding, as usual, with all hisheart, with all his mind, with all his soul, and with all his strength;while Jack, still on the grey, came plodding diligently along in the rear,saving his horse as much as he could. His lordship charged a stiff flightof rails in the brick-fields; while Jack, thinking to save his, rode at aweak place in the fence, a little higher up, and in an instant was sousedoverhead in a clay-hole.

  'Duck under, Jack! duck under!' screamed his lordship,
as Jack's head roseto the surface. 'Duck under! you'll have it full directly!' added he,eyeing Sponge and the rest coming up.

  Sponge, however, saw the splash, and turning a little lower down, landedsafe on sound ground; while poor Blossomnose, who was next, wentfloundering overhead also. But the pace was too good to stop to fish themout.

  'Dash it,' said Sponge, looking at them splashing about, 'but that was anear go for me!'

  Jack being thus disposed of, Sponge, with increased confidence, rose in hisstirrups, easing the redoubtable Hercules; and patting him on the shoulder,at the same time that he gave him the gentlest possible touch of the spur,exclaimed, 'By the powers, we'll show these old Flat Hats the trick!' Hethen commenced humming:

  Mister Sponge, the raspers taking, Sets the junkers' nerves a shaking;

  and riding cheerfully on, he at length found himself on the confines of awild rough-looking moor, with an undulating range of hills in the distance.

  Frostyface and Lord Scamperdale here for the first time diverged from theline the hounds were running, and made for the neck of a smooth, flat,rather inviting-looking piece of ground, instead of crossing it, Sponge,thinking to get a niche, rode to it; and the 'deeper and deeper still' sortof flounder his horse made soon let him know that he was in a bog. Theimpetuous Hercules rushed and reared onwards as if to clear the wideexpanse; and alighting still lower, shot Sponge right overhead in themiddle.

  '_That's_ cooked _your_ goose!' exclaimed his lordship, eyeing Sponge andhis horse floundering about in the black porridge-like mess.

  'Catch my horse!' hallooed Sponge to the first whip, who came galloping upas Hercules was breasting his way out again.

  'Catch him yourself,' grunted the man, galloping on.

  A peat-cutter, more humane, received the horse as he emerged from the blacksea, exclaiming, as the now-piebald Sponge came lobbing after on foot, 'A,sir! but ye should niver set tee to ride through sic a place as that!'

  Sponge, having generously rewarded the man with a fourpenny piece, forcatching his horse and scraping the thick of the mud off him, againmounted, and cantered round the point he should at first have gone; but hischance was out--the farther he went, the farther he was left behind; tillat last, pulling up, he stood watching the diminishing pack, rolling likemarbles over the top of Rotherjade Hill, followed by his lordship hugginghis horse round the neck as he went, and the huntsman and whips leading anddriving theirs up before them.

  'Nasty jealous old beggar!' said Sponge, eyeing his lessening lordshipdisappearing over the hill too. Sponge then performed the sickeningceremony of turning away from hounds running; not but that he might haveplodded on on the line, and perhaps seen or heard what became of the fox,but Sponge didn't hunt on those terms. Like a good many other gentlemen, hewould be first, or nowhere.

  If it was any consolation to him, he had plenty of companions inmisfortune. The line was dotted with horsemen back to the brick-fields. Thefirst person he overtook wending his way home in the discontented, moodyhumour of a thrown-out man, was Mr. Puffington master of the Hanby hounds;at whose appearance at the meet we expressed our surprise.

  Neighbouring masters of hounds are often more or less jealous of eachother. No man in the master-of-hound world is too insignificant forcensure. Lord Scamperdale _was_ an undoubted sportsman; while poor Mr.Puffington thought of nothing but how to be thought one. Hearing themistaken rumour that a great writer was down, he thought that his chance ofimmortality was arrived; and, ordering his best horse, and putting on hisbest apparel, had braved the jibes and sneers of Jack and his lordship forthe purpose of scraping acquaintance with the stranger. In that he had beenfoiled: there was no time at the meet to get introduced, neither could heget jostled beside Sponge in going down to the cover; while the quick find,the quick get away, followed by the quick thing we have described, wereequally unfavourable to the undertaking. Nevertheless, Mr. Puffington hadheld on beyond the brick-fields; and had he but persevered a littlefarther, he would have had the satisfaction of helping Mr. Sponge out ofthe bog.

  Sponge now, seeing a red coat a little before, trotted on, and quicklyovertook a fine nippy, satin-stocked, dandified looking gentleman, withmarvellously smart leathers and boots--a great contrast to the large,roomy, bargemanlike costume of the members of the Flat Hat Hunt.

  'You're not hurt, I hope?' exclaimed Mr. Puffington, with well-feignedanxiety, as he looked at Mr. Sponge's black-daubed clothes.

  'Oh no!' replied Sponge. 'Oh no!--fell soft--fell soft. More dirt, lesshurt--more dirt, less hurt.'

  'Why, you've been in a bog!' exclaimed Mr. Puffington, eyeing themuch-stained Hercules.

  'Almost over head,' replied Sponge. 'Scamperdale saw me going, and hadn'tthe grace to halloa.'

  'Ah, that's like him,' replied Mr. Puffington, 'that's like him: there'snothing pleases him so much as getting fellows into grief.'

  'Not very polite to a stranger,' observed Mr. Sponge.

  'No, it isn't,' replied Mr. Puffington, 'no, it isn't; far from itindeed--far from it; but, low be it spoken,' added he, 'his lordship isonly a roughish sort of customer.'

  'So he is,' replied Mr. Sponge, who thought it fine to abuse a nobleman.

  'The fact is,' said Mr. Puffington, 'these Flat Hat chaps are all snobs.They think there are no such fine fellows as themselves under the sun; andif ever a stranger looks near them, they make a point of being as rude anddisagreeable to him as they possibly can. This is what they call keepingthe hunt select.'

  'Indeed,' observed Mr. Sponge, recollecting how they had complimentedhim, adding, 'they seem a queer set.'

  'There's a fellow they call "Jack,"' observed Mr. Puffington, 'who acts asa sort of bulldog to his lordship, and worries whoever his lordship setshim upon. He got into a clay-hole a little farther back, and a precioussplashing he was making, along with the chaplain, old Blossomnose.'

  'Ah, I saw him,' observed Mr. Sponge.

  'You should come and see _my_ hounds,' observed Mr. Puffington.

  'What are they?' asked Sponge.

  'The Hanby,' replied Mr. Puffington.

  'Oh! then you are Mr. Puffington,' observed Sponge, who had a sort ofgeneral acquaintance with all the hounds and masters--indeed, with all themeets of all the hounds in the kingdom--which he read in the weekly listsin _Bell's Life_, just as he read _Mogg's Cab Fares_. 'Then you are Mr.Puffington?' observed Sponge.

  'The same,' replied the stranger.

  'I'll have a look at you,' observed Sponge, adding, 'do you take inhorses?'

  'Yours, of course,' replied Mr. Puffington, bowing; adding something aboutgreat public characters, which Sponge didn't understand.

  'I'll be down upon you, as the extinguisher said to the rushlight,'observed Mr. Sponge.

  'Do,' said Mr. Puffington; 'come before the frost. Where are you stayingnow?'

  'I'm at Jawleyford's,' replied our friend.

  'Indeed!--Jawleyford's, are you?' repeated Mr. Puffington. 'Good fellow,Jawleyford--gentleman, Jawleyford. How long do you stay?'

  'Why, I haven't made up my mind,' replied Sponge. 'Have no thoughts ofbudging at present.'

  'Ah, well--good quarters,' said Mr. Puffington, who now smelt a rat; 'goodquarters--nice girls--fine fortune--fine place, Jawleyford Court. Well,book me for the next visit,' added he. 'I will,' said Sponge, 'and nomistake. What do they call your shop?'

  'Hanby House,' replied Mr. Puffington; 'Hanby House--anybody can tell youwhere Hanby House is.'

  'I'll not forget,' said Mr. Sponge, booking it in his mind, and eyeing hisvictim.

  'I'll show you a fine pack of hounds,' said Mr. Puffington; 'far fineranimals than those of old Scamperdale's--steady, true hunting hounds, thatwon't go a yard without a scent--none of your jealous, flashy, franticdevils, that will tear over half a township without one, and are alwayslooking out for "halloas" and assistance--'

  Mr. Puffington was interrupted in the comparison he was about to drawbetween his lordship's hounds and his, by arriving at the Bolsoverbrick-
fields, and seeing Jack and Blossomnose, horse in hand, running toand fro, while sundry countrymen blobbed about in the clay-hole they had sorecently occupied. Tom Washball, Mr. Wake, Mr. Fyle, Mr. Fossick, andseveral dark-coated horsemen and boys were congregated around. Jack hadlost his spectacles, and Blossomnose his whip, and the countrymen werediving for them.

  'Not hurt, I hope?' said Mr. Puffington, in the most dandified tone ofindifference, as he rode up to where Jack and Blossomnose were churning thewater in their boots, stamping up and down, trying to get themselves warm.

  'Hurt be hanged!' replied Jack, who had a frightful squint, that turned hiseyes inside out when he was in a passion: 'hurt be hanged!' said he; 'mighthave been drownded, for anything you'd have cared.'

  'I should have been sorry for that,' replied Mr. Puffington, adding, 'theFlat Hat Hunt could ill afford to lose so useful and ornamental a member.'

  'I don't know what the Flat Hat Hunt can afford to lose,' spluttered Jack,who hadn't got all the clay out of his mouth; 'but I know they can affordto do without the company of certain gentlemen who shall be nameless,' saidhe, looking at Sponge and Puffington as he thought, but in reality showingnothing but the whites of his eyes. 'I told you so,' said Puffington,jerking his head towards Jack, as Sponge and he turned their horses' headsto ride away; 'I told you so,' repeated he; 'that's a specimen of theirstyle'; adding, 'they are the greatest set of ruffians under the sun.'

  The new acquaintances then jogged on together as far as the cross-roads atStewley, when Puffington, having bound Sponge in his own recognizance tocome to him when he left Jawleyford Court, pointed him out his way, andwith a most hearty shake of the hands the new-made friends parted.