CHAPTER LXV
THE HUNT
While the foregoing arrangements were in progress, Mr. Watchorn had desiredSlarkey, the knife-boy, to go into the old hay-loft and take thethree-legged fox he would find, and put him down among the laurels by thesummer-house, where he would draw up to him all 'reg'lar' like.Accordingly, Slarkey went, but the old cripple having mounted the rafters,Slarkey didn't see him, or rather seeing but one fox, he clutched him, witha greater regard to his not biting him than to seeing how many legs he had;consequently he bagged an uncommonly fine old dog fox, that Wiley Tom hadjust stolen from Lord Scamperdale's new cover at Faggotfurze; and it wasnot until Slarkey put him down among the bushes, and saw how lively hewent, that he found out his mistake. However, there was no help for it,and he had just time to pocket the bag when Watchorn's half-drunken cheer,and the reverberating cracks of ponderous whips on either side of the Dean,announced the approach of the pack.
'He-leu in there!' cried Watchorn to the hounds. ''Ord, dommee, but it'sslippy,' said he to himself. 'Have at him. Plunderer, good dog! I wish Imay be Cardinal Wiseman for comin',' added he, seeing how his breath showedon the air. 'Ho-o-i-cks! p_a_sh 'im hup! I'll be dashed if I shan't bedown!' exclaimed he, as his horse slid a long slide. 'He-leu, in!Conqueror, old boy!' continued he, exclaiming loud enough for Mr. Spongewho was drawing near to hear, 'find us a fox that'll give us five and fortyminnits!' the speaker inwardly hoping they might chop their bagman incover. 'Y-o-o-icks! rout him out!' continued he, getting more energetic.'Y-o-o-icks! wind him! Y-o-o-icks! stir us hup a teaser!'
'No go, I think,' observed George Cheek, ambling up on his leggy weed.
'No go, ye young infidel,' growled Watchorn, 'who taught you to talk aboutgo's, I wonder? ought to be at school larnin' to cipher, or ridin' theglobes,' Mr. Watchorn not exactly knowing what the term 'use of theglobes,' meant. 'D'ye call that _nothin_'!' exclaimed he, taking off hiscap as he viewed the fox stealing along the gravel walk; adding to himself,as he saw his even action, and full, well-tagged brush, ''Ord rot him, he'sgot hold of the wrong 'un!'
It was, however, no time for thought. In an instant the welkin rang withthe outburst of the pack and the clamour of the field. 'Talli ho!' 'Talliho!' 'Talli ho!' 'Hoop!' 'Hoop!' 'Hoop!' cried a score of voices, and'Twang! twang! twang!' went the shrill horn of the huntsman. The whips,too, stood in their stirrups, cracking their ponderous thongs, whichsounded like guns upon the frosty air, and contributed their 'Get together!get together, hounds!' 'Hark away!' 'Hark away!' 'Hark away!' 'Hark' to thegeneral uproar. Oh, what a row, what a riot, what a racket! Watchorn being'in' for it, and recollecting how many saw a start who never thought ofseeing a finish, immediately got his horse by the head, and singled himselfout from the crowd now pressing at his horse's heels, determining, if thehounds didn't run into their fox in the park, to ride them off the scent atthe very first opportunity. The 'chumpine' being still alive within him, inthe excitement of the moment he leaped the hand-gate leading out of theshrubberies into the park; the noise the horse made in taking offresembling the trampling on wood-pavement.
'Cuss it, but it's 'ard!' exclaimed he, as the horse slid two or threeyards as he alighted on the frozen field.
George Cheek followed him; and Multum-in-Parvo, taking the bit deliberatelybetween his teeth, just walked through the gate, as if it had been made ofpaper.
'Ah, ye brute!' groaned Mr. Sponge, in disgust, digging the Latchfords intohis sides, as if he intended to make them meet in the middle. 'Ah, yebrute!' repeated he, giving him a hearty cropper as he put up his headafter trying to kick him off.
'Thank you!' exclaimed Miss Glitters, cantering up; adding, 'you clearedthe way nicely for me.'
Nicely he had cleared it for them all; and the pent-up tide ofequestrianism now poured over the park like the flood of an irrigated watermeadow. Such ponies! such horses! such hugging! such kicking! suchscrambling! and so little progress with many!
The park being extensive--three hundred acres or more--there was amplespace for the aspiring ones to single themselves out; and as LadyScattercash and Orlando sat in the pony-phaeton, on the rising ground bythe keeper's house, they saw a dark-clad horseman (George Cheek), OldGingerbread Boots, as they called Mr. Sponge, with Lucy Glitters alongsideof him, gradually stealing away from the crowd, and creeping up to Mr.Watchorn, who was sailing away with the hounds.
'What a scrimmage!' exclaimed her ladyship, standing up in the carriage,and eyeing the
Strange confusion in the vale below.
'There's Bob in his old purple,' said she, eyeing her brother hustlingalong; 'and there's "Fat" in his new Moses and Son; and Bouncey in poorWax's coat; and there's Harry all legs and wings, as usual,' added she, asher husband was seen flibberty-gibbertying it along.
'And there's Lucy; and where's Miss Howard, I wonder?' observed Orlando,straining his eyes after the scrambling field.
Nothing but the inspiriting aid of 'chumpine,' and the hope that the thingwould soon terminate, sustained Mr. Watchorn under the infliction in whichhe so unexpectedly found himself; for nothing would have tempted him tobrave such a frost with the burning scent of a game four-legged fox. Thepark being spacious, and enclosed by a high plank paling, he hoped the foxwould have the manners to confine himself within it; and so long as histhreadings and windings favoured the supposition, our huntsman bustledalong, yelling and screaming in apparent ecstasy at the top of his voice.The hounds, to be sure, wanted keeping together, for Frantic as usual hadshot ahead, while the gorged pigpailers could never extricate themselvesfrom the ponies.
'F-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d!' elongatedWatchorn, rising in his stirrups, and looking back with a grin at GeorgeCheek, who was plying his weed with the whip, exclaiming, 'Ah, youconfounded young warmint, I'll give you a warmin'! I'll teach you to jawabout 'untin'!'
As he turned his head straight to look at his hounds, he was shocked to seeFrantic falling backwards from a first attempt to leap the park-palings,and just as she gathered herself for a second effort, Desperate, Chatterer,and Galloper, charged in line and got over. Then came the general rush ofthe pack, attended with the usual success--some over, some back, some a-topof others.
'Oh, the devil!' exclaimed Watchorn, pulling up short in a perfect agony ofdespair. 'Oh, the devil!' repeated he in a lower tone, as Mr. Spongeapproached.
'Where's there a gate?' roared our friend, skating up.
'Gate! there's never a gate within a mile, and that's locked,' repliedWatchorn sulkily.
'Then here goes!' replied Mr. Sponge, gathering the chestnut together togive him an opportunity of purging himself of his previous _faux pas_.'Here goes!' repeated he, thrusting his hard hat firmly on his head. Takinghis horse back a few paces, Mr. Sponge crammed him manfully at the palings,and got over with a rap.
'Well done you!' exclaimed Miss Glitters in delight; adding to Watchorn,'Now, old Beardey, you go next.'
Beardey was irresolute. He pretended to be anxious to get the tail houndsover.
'Clear the way, then!' exclaimed Miss Glitters, putting her horse back, herbright eyes flashing as she spoke. She took him back as far as Mr. Spongehad done, touched him with the whip, and in an instant she was high in theair, landing safely on the far side.
'Hoo-ray!' exclaimed Captains Quod and Cutitfat, who now came panting up.
'Now, Mr. Watchorn!' cried Captain Seedeybuck, adding, 'You're a huntsman!'
'Yooi over, Prosperous! Yooi over, Buster!' cheered Watchorn, stillpretending anxiety about his hounds.
'Let _me_ have a shy,' squeaked George Cheek, backing his giraffe, as hehad seen Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters do.
George took his screw by the head, and, giving him a hearty rib-roastingwith his whip, ran him full tilt at the palings, and carried away half arood.
'Hoo-ray!' cried the liberated field.
'_I_ knew how it would be,' exclaimed Mr. Watchorn, in well-feigned disgustas he rode through the gap; adding, '_con_-founded young wag
gabone!Deserves to be well _chaste_-tized for breakin' people's palin's in thatway--lettin' in all the rubbishin' tail.'
The scene then changed. In lieu of the green, though hard, sward of theundulating park, our friends now found themselves on large frozen fallows,upon whose uneven surface the heaviest horses made no impression while theshuffling rats of ponies toiled and floundered about, almost receding intheir progress. Mr. Sponge was just topping the fence out of the first one,and Miss Glitters was gathering her horse to ride at it, as Watchorn andCo. emerged from the park. Rounding the turnip-hill beyond, the leadinghounds were racing with a breast-high scent, followed by the pack inlong-drawn file.
'What a mess!' said Watchorn to himself, shading the sun from his eyes withhis hand; when, remembering his _role_, he exclaimed, 'Y-o-o-n-der theygo!' as if in ecstasies at the sight. Seeing a gate at the bottom of thefield, he got his horse by the head, and rattled him across the fallow,blowing his horn more in hopes of stopping the pack than with a view ofbringing up the tail-hounds. He might have saved his breath, for the musicof the pack completely drowned the noise of the horn. 'Dash it!' said he,thumping the broad end against his thigh; 'I wish I was quietly back in myparlour. Hold up, horse!' roared he, as Harkaway nearly came on hishaunches in pulling up at the gate. 'I know who's _not_ Cardinal Wiseman,'continued he, stooping to open it.
The gate was fast, and he had to alight and lift it off its hinges. Just ashe had done so, and had got it sufficiently open for a horse to pass,George Cheek came up from behind, and slipped through before him.
'Oh, you unrighteous young renegade! Did ever mortal see sich anuncivilized trick?' roared Watchorn; adding, as he climbed on to his horseagain, and went spluttering through the frozen turnips after the offender,'You've no 'quaintance with Lord John Manners, I think!'
'Oh dear!--oh dear!' exclaimed he, as his horse nearly came on his head,'but this is the most punishin' affair I ever was in at. Puseyism's nothin'to it.' And thereupon he indulged in no end of anathemas at Slarkey forbringing the wrong fox.
'About time to take soundings, and cast anchor, isn't it?' gasped CaptainBouncey, toiling up red-hot on his pulling horse in a state of utterexhaustion, as Watchorn stood craneing and looking at a rasper throughwhich Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters had passed, without disturbing a twig.
'C--a--s--t anchor!' exclaimed Watchorn, in a tone of derision--'not thishalf-hour yet, I hope!--not this forty minnits yet, I hope;--not this hourand twenty minnits yet, I hope!' continued he, putting his horseirresolutely at the fence. The horse blundered through it, barkingWatchorn's nose with a branch.
''Ord rot it, cut off my nose!' exclaimed he, muffling it up in his hand.'Cut off my nose clean by my face, I do believe,' continued he, venturingto look into his hand for it. 'Well,' said he, eyeing the slight stain ofblood on his glove, 'this will be a lesson to me as long as I live. If everI 'unt again in a frost, may I be ----. Thank goodness! they've checked atlast!' exclaimed he, as the music suddenly ceased, and Mr. Sponge and MissGlitters sat motionless together on their panting, smoking steeds.
Watchorn then stuck spurs to his horse, and being now on a flat rushypasture, with a bridle-gate into the field where the hounds were casting,he hustled across, preparing his horn for a blow as soon as he got there.
'Twang--twang--twang--twang,' he went, riding up the hedgerow in thecontrary direction to what the hounds leant. 'Twang--twang--twang,' hecontinued, inwardly congratulating himself that the fox would never facethe troop of urchins he saw coming down with their guns.
'Hang him!--he's never that way!' observed Mr. Sponge, _sotto voce_, toMiss Glitters. 'He's never that way,' repeated he, seeing how Frantic flungto 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 lestthey might hit off the scent.
Mr. Sponge answered the appeal by turning his horse the way the hounds werefeathering, 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 thescent to the right, and Galloper, and Melody, and all the rest scored tocry.
'Oh, you confounded brown-bouted beggar!' exclaimed Mr. Watchorn, returninghis horn to its case, and eyeing Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters sailing awaywith the again breast-high-scent pack. 'Oh, you exorbitant usurer!'continued he, gathering his horse to skate after them. 'Well now, that'sthe most disgraceful proceedin' I ever saw in the whole course of my life.Hang me, if I'll stand such work! Dash me, but I'll 'quaint theQueen!--I'll tell Sir George Grey! I'll write to Mr. Walpole! Fo-orrard!fo-orrard!' hallooed he, as Bob Spangles and Bouncey popped upon himunexpectedly from behind, exclaiming with well-feigned glee, as he pointedto the streaming pack with his whip, ''Ord dash it, but we're in for a goodthing!'
Little Bouncey's horse was still yawning and star-gazing, and Bouncey,being quite unequal to riding him and well-nigh exhausted, 'downed' himagainst a rubbing-post in the middle of a field, making a 'cannon' with hisown and his horse's head, and was immediately the centre of attraction forthe panting tail. Bouncey got near a pint of sherry from among them beforehe recovered from the shock. So anxious were they about him, that not oneof them thought of resuming the chase. Even the lagging whips couldn'tleave him. George Cheek was presently _hors de combat_ in a hedge, andWatchorn seeing him 'see-sawing,' exclaimed, as he slipped through a gate:
'I'll send your mar to you, you young 'umbug.'
Watchorn would gladly have stopped too, for the fumes of the champagne weredead within him, and the riding was becoming every minute more dangerous.He trotted on, hoping each jump of brown boots would be the last, andinwardly wishing the wearer at the devil. Thus he passed through aconsiderable extent of country, over Harrowdale Lordship, or reputedLordship, past Roundington Tower, down Sloppyside Banks, and on toCheeseington Green; the severity of his affliction being alone mitigated bythe intervention of accommodating roads and lines of field gates. These,however, Mr. Sponge generally declined, and went crashing on, now over highplaces, now over low, just as they came in his way, closely followed by thefair Lucy Glitters.
'Well, I never see'd sich a man as that!' exclaimed Watchorn, eyeing Mr.Sponge clearing a stiff flight of rails, with a gap near at hand. 'Norwoman nouther!' added he, as Miss Glitters did the like. 'Well, I'm dashedif it arn't dangerous!' continued he, thumping his hand against his thickthigh, as the white nearly slipped upon landing. 'F-o-r-r-ard! for-rard!hoop!' screeched he, as he saw Miss Glitters looking back to see where hewas. 'F-o-r-rard! for-rard!' repeated he; adding, in apparent delight, 'Myeyes, but we're in for a stinger! Hold up, horse!' roared he, as his horsenow went starring up to the knees through a long sheet of ice, squirtingthe clayey water into his rider's face. 'Hold up!' repeated he, adding,'I'm dashed if one mightn't as well be crashin' over the Christial Palaceas ridin' over a country froze in this way! 'Ord rot it, how cold it is!'continued he, blowing on his finger-ends; 'I declare my 'ands are quitenumb. Well done, old brown bouts!' exclaimed he, as a crash on the rightattracted his attention; 'well done, old brown bouts!--broke every bar i'the gate!' adding, 'but I'll let Mr. Buckram know the way his beautifulhorses are 'bused. Well,' continued he, after a long skate down the grassyside of Ditchburn Lane, 'there's no fun in this--none whatever. Who thedeuce would be a huntsman that could be anything else? Dash it! I'd raytherbe a hosier--I'd rayther be a 'atter--I'd rayther be an undertaker--I'drayther be a Pusseyite parson--I'd rayther be a pig-jobber--I'd rayther bea besom-maker--I'd rayther be a dog's-meat man--I'd rayther be a cat's-meatman--I'd rayther go about a sellin' of chick-weed and sparrow-grass!' addedhe, as his horse nearly slipped up on his haunches.
'Thank 'eavens there's relief at last!' exclaimed he, as on risingGimmerhog Hill he saw Farmer Saintfoin's southdowns wheeling andclustering, indicative of the fox having passed; 'thank 'eave
ns, there'srelief at last!' repeated he, reining up his horse to see the hounds chargethem.
Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters were now in the bottom below, fighting theirway across a broad mill-course with a very stiff fence on the taking-offside.
'Hold up!' roared Mr. Sponge, as, having bored a hole through the fence, hefound himself on the margin of the water-race. The horse did hold up, andlanded him--not without a scramble--on the far side. 'Run him at it, Lucy!'exclaimed Mr. Sponge, turning his horse half round to his fair companion.'Run him at it, Lucy!' repeated he; and Lucy fortunately hitting the gap,skimmed o'er the water like a swallow on a summer's eve.
'Well done! you're a trump!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, standing in hisstirrups, and holding on by the mane as his horse rose the opposing hill.
He just got up in time to save the muttons; another second and the houndswould have been into them. Holding up his hand to beckon Lucy to stop, hesat eyeing them intently. Many of them had their heads up, and not a fewwere casting sheep's eyes at the sheep. Some few of the line hunters werepersevering with the scent over the greasy ground. It was a criticalmoment. They cast to the right, then to the left, and again took a widersweep in advance, returning however towards the sheep, as if they thoughtthem the best spec after all.
'Put 'em to me,' said Mr. Sponge, giving Miss Glitters his whip; 'put 'emto me!' said he, hallooing, 'Yor-geot, hounds!--yor-geot!'--which, beinginterpreted, means, 'here again, hounds!--here again!'
'Oh, the conceited beggar!' exclaimed Mr. Watchorn to himself, as,disappointed of his finish, he sat feeling his nose, mopping his face, andwatching the proceedings. 'Oh, the conceited beggar!' repeated he, adding,'old 'hogany bouts is _ab_solutely a goin' to kest them.'
Cast them, however, he did, proceeding very cautiously in the direction thehounds seemed to lean. They were on a piece of cold scenting ground, acrosswhich they could hardly own the scent.
'Don't hurry 'em!' cried Mr. Sponge to Miss Glitters, who was actingwhipper-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,' saidWatchorn to himself, looking first at the formidable leap before him, andthen to see if there was any one coming up behind. 'I'll lose a shoe,' saidhe. 'No notion of lippin' of a navigable river--a downright arm of thesea,' added he, getting off.
'Forward! forward!' screeched Mr. Sponge, capping the hounds on, when awaythey went, heads up and sterns down as before.
'Ay, for-rard! for-rard!' mimicked Mr. Watchorn; adding, 'you're for-rardenough, at all events.'
After running about three-quarters of a mile at best pace, Mr. Spongeviewed the fox crossing a large grass field with all the steam up he couldraise, a few hundred yards ahead of the pack, who were streaming along mostbeautifully, not viewing, but gradually gaining upon him. At last theybroke from scent to view, and presently rolled him over and over amongthem.
'WHO-HOOP!' screamed Mr. Sponge, throwing himself off his horseand rushing in amongst them. 'WHO-HOOP!' repeated he, stilllouder, holding the fox up in grim death above the baying pack.
'Who-hoop!' exclaimed Miss Glitters, reining up in delight alongside thechestnut. 'Who-hoop!' repeated she, diving into the saddle-pocket for herlace-fringed handkerchief.
'Throw me my whip!' cried Mr. Sponge, repelling the attacks of the houndsfrom behind with his heels. Having got it, he threw the fox on the ground,and clearing a circle, he off with his brush in an instant. 'Tear him andeat him!' cried he, as the pack broke in on the carcass. 'Tear him and eathim!' repeated he, as he made his way up to Miss Glitters with the brush,exclaiming, 'We'll put this in your hat, alongside the cock's feathers.'
The fair lady leant towards him, and as he adjusted it becomingly in herhat, looking at her bewitching eyes, her lovely face, and feeling the sweetfragrance of her breath, a something shot through Mr. Sponge's pull-devil,pull-baker coat, his corduroy waistcoat, his Eureka shirt, Angola vest, andpenetrated the very cockles of his heart. He gave her such a series ofsmacking kisses as startled her horse and astonished a poacher whohappened to be hid in the adjoining hedge.
Sponge was never so happy in his life. He could have stood on his head, orbeen guilty of any sort of extravagance, short of wasting his money. Oh, hewas happy! Oh, he was joyous! He was intoxicated with pleasure. As he eyedhis angelic charmer, her lustrous eyes, her glowing cheeks, her pearlyteeth, the bewitching fulness of her elegant _tournure_, and thought of themasterly way she rode the run--above all, of the dashing style in which shecharged the mill-race--he felt a something quite different to anything hehad experienced with any of the buxom widows or lackadaisical misses whomhe could just love or not, according to circumstances, among whom hisprevious experience had lain. Miss Glitters, he knew, had nothing, and yethe felt he could not do without her; the puzzlement of his mind was, howthe deuce they should manage matters--'make tongue and buckle meet,' as heelegantly phrased it.
It is pleasant to hear a bachelor's pros and cons on the subject ofmatrimony; how the difficulties of the gentleman out of love vanish orchange into advantages with the one in--'Oh, I would never think ofmarrying without a couple of thousand a year at the _very least_!' exclaimsyoung Fastly. '_I_ can't do without four hunters and a hack. _I_ can't dowithout a valet. _I_ can't do without a brougham. _I_ must belong tohalf-a-dozen clubs. _I'll_ not marry any woman who can't keep mecomfortable--bachelors can live upon nothing--bachelors are welcomeeverywhere--very different thing with a wife. Frightful things milliners'bills--fifty guineas for a dress, twenty for a bonnet--ladies' maids arethe very devil--never satisfied--far worse to please than theirmistresses.' And between the whiffs of a cigar he hums the old saw--
'Needles and pins, needles and pins, When a man marries his sorrow begins.'
Now take him on the other tack--Fast is smitten.
''Ord hang it! a married man can live on very little,' soliloquizes ourfriend. A nice lovely creature to keep one at home. Hunting's all humbug;it's only the flash of the thing that makes one follow it. Then the dangerfar more than counterbalances the pleasure. Awful places one has to rideover, to be sure, or submit to be called "slow." Horrible thing to set upfor a horseman, and then have to ride to maintain one's reputation. Will bethankful to give it up altogether. The bays will make capitalcarriage-horses, and one can often pick up a second-hand carriage as goodas new. Shall save no end of money by not having to put "B" to my name inthe assessed tax-payer. One club's as good as a dozen--will give up thePolyanthus and the Sunflower, and the Refuse and the Rag. Ladies' dressesare cheap enough. Saw a beautiful gown t'other day for a guinea. Will startMaster Bergamotte. Does nothing for his wages; will scarce clean my boots.Can get a chap for half what I give him, who'll do double the work. Willmake Beans into coachman. What a convenience to have one's wife's maid tosew on one's buttons, and keep one's toes in one's stocking-feet! Declare Ilose half my things at the washing for want of marking. Hanged if I won'tmarry and be respectable--marriage is an honourable state!' And thereuponTom grows a couple of inches taller in his own conceit.
Though Mr. Sponge's thoughts did not travel in quite such a luxuriousfirst-class train as the foregoing, he, Mr. Sponge, being more of atwo-shirts-and-a-dicky sort of man, yet still the future ways and meansweighed upon his mind, and calmed the transports of his present joy. Lucywas an angel! about that there was no dispute. He would make her Mrs.Sponge at all events. Touring about was very expensive. He could onlycounterbalance the extravagance of inns by the rigid rule of giving nothingto servants at private houses. He thought a nice airy lodging in thesuburbs of London would answer every purpose, while his accurate knowledgeof cab-fares would enable Lucy to continue her engagement at the RoyalAmphitheatre without incurring the serious overcharges the inexperiencedare exposed to. 'Where one can dine, two can dine,' mused Mr. Sponge; 'andI make no doubt we'll manage matters somehow.'
'Twopence
for your thoughts!' cried Lucy, trotting up, and touching himgently on the back with her light silver-mounted riding-whip. 'Twopence foryour thoughts!' repeated she, as Mr. Sponge sauntered leisurely along,regardless of the bitter cold, followed by such of the hounds as chose toaccompany him.
'Ah!' replied he, brightening up; 'I was just thinking what a deuced goodrun we'd had.'
'Indeed!' pouted the fair lady.
'No, my darling; I was thinking what a very pretty girl you are,' rejoinedhe, sidling his horse up, and encircling her neat waist with his arm.
A sweet smile dimpled her plump cheeks, and chased the recollection of theformer answer away.
It would not be pretty--indeed, we could not pretend to give even theoutline of the conversation that followed. It was carried on in such brokenand disjointed sentences, eyes and squeezes doing so much more work thanwords, that even a reporter would have had to draw largely upon hisimagination for the substance. Suffice it to say that, though thethermometer was below zero, they never moved out of a foot's pace; the veryhounds growing tired of the trail, and slinking off one by one as theopportunity occurred.
A dazzling sun was going down with a blood-red glare, and the partiallysoftened ground was fast resuming its fretwork of frost, as our hero andheroine were seen sauntering up the western avenue to Nonsuch House, asslowly and quietly as if it had been the hottest evening in summer.
'Here's old Coppertops!' exclaimed Captain Seedeybuck, as, turning round inthe billiard-room to chalk his cue, he espied them crawling along. 'AndLucy!' added he as he stood watching them.
'How slowly they come!' observed Bob Spangles, going to the window.
'Must have tired their horses,' suggested Captain Quod.
'Just the sort of man to tire a horse,' rejoined Bob Spangles.
'Hate that Sponge,' observed Captain Cutitfat.
'So do I,' replied Captain Quod.
'Well, never mind the beggar! It's you to play!' exclaimed Bob Spangles toCaptain Seedeybuck.
But Lady Scattercash, who was observing our friends from her boudoirwindow, saw with a woman's eye that there was something more than a merecase of tired horses; and, tripping downstairs, she arrived at the frontdoor just as the fair Lucy dropped smilingly from her horse into Mr.Sponge's extended arms. Hurrying up into the boudoir, Lucy gave herladyship one of Mr. Sponge's modified kisses, revealing the truth moreeloquently than words could convey.
'Oh,' Lady Scattercash was '_so_ glad!' '_so_ delighted!' '_so_ charmed!'
Mr. Sponge was _such_ a _nice_ man, and _so rich_. She was sure he wasrich--couldn't hunt if he wasn't. Would advise Lucy to have a goodsettlement, in case he broke his neck. And pin-money! pin-money was mostuseful! no husband ever let his wife have enough money. Must forget allabout Harry Dacre and Charley Brown, and the swell in the Blues. Must beprudent for the future. Mr. Sponge would never know anything of the past.Then she reverted to the interesting subject of settlements. 'What had Mr.Sponge got, and what would he do?' This Lucy couldn't tell. 'What! hadn'the told her where is estates were?--'No.' 'Well, was his dad dead?' ThisLucy didn't know either. They had got no further than the tender prop. 'Ah!well; would get it all out of him by degrees.' And with the reiteration ofher 'so glads,' and the repayment of the kiss Lucy had advanced, herladyship advised her to get off her habit and make herself comfortablewhile she ran downstairs to communicate the astonishing intelligence to theparty below.
'What d'ye think?' exclaimed she, bursting into the billiard-room, wherethe party were still engaged in a game at pool, all our sportsmen, exceptCaptain Cutitfat, who still sported his new Moses and Son's scarlet, havingdivested themselves of their hunting-gear--'What d'ye think?' exclaimedshe, darting into the middle of them.
'That Bob don't cannon?' observed Captain Bouncey from below the bandagethat encircled his broken head, nodding towards Bob Spangles, who was justgoing to make a stroke.
'That Wax is out of limbo?' suggested Captain Seedeybuck, in the samebreath.
'No. Guess again!' exclaimed Lady Scattercash, rubbing her hands in highglee.
'That the Pope's got a son?' observed Captain Quod.
'No. Guess again!' exclaimed her ladyship, laughing.
'I give it up,' replied Captain Bouncey.
'So do I,' added Captain Seedeybuck.
'_That Mr. Sponge is going to be married_,' enunciated her ladyship, slowlyand emphatically, waving her arms.
'Ho-o-ray! Only think of that!' exclaimed Captain Quod. 'Old 'hogany-topsgoin' to be spliced!'
'Did you ever?' asked Bob Spangles.
'No, I _never_,' replied Captain Bouncey.
'He should be called Spooney Sponge, not Soapey Sponge,' observed CaptainSeedeybuck.
'Well, but to whom?' asked Captain Bouncey.
'Ah, to whom indeed! That's the question,' rejoined her ladyship archly.
'I know,' observed Bob Spangles.
'No, you don't.'
'Yes, I do.'
'Who is it, then?' demanded her ladyship.
'Lucy Glitters, to be sure,' replied Bob, who hadn't had his stare out ofthe billiard-room window for nothing.
'Pity her,' observed Bouncey, sprawling along the billiard-table to playfor a cannon.
'Why?' asked Lady Scattercash.
'Reg'lar scamp,' replied Bouncey, vexed at missing his stroke.
'Dare say you know nothing about him,' snapped her ladyship.
'Don't I?' replied Bouncey complacently; adding, 'that's all you know.'
'He'll whop her, to a certainty,' observed Seedeybuck.
'What makes you think that?' asked her ladyship.
'Oh--ha--hem--haw--why, because he whopped his poor horse--whopped him overthe ears. Whop his horse, whop his wife; whop his wife, whop his horse.Reg'lar Rule-of-three sum.'
'Make her a bad husband, I dare say,' observed Bob Spangles, who was rathersmitten with Lucy himself.
'Never mind; a bad husband's a deal better than none, Bob,' replied LadyScattercash, determined not to be put out of conceit of her man.
'He, he, he!--haw, haw, haw!--ho, ho, ho! Well done you!' laughed several.
'She'll have to keep him,' observed Captain Cutitfat, whose turn it now wasto play.
'What makes you think that?' asked Lady Scattercash, coming again to thecharge.
'He has nothing,' replied Fat coolly.
''Deed, but he has--a very good property, too,' replied her ladyship.
'In _Air_shire, I should think,' rejoined Fat.
'No, in Englandshire,' retorted her ladyship: 'and great expectations froman uncle,' added she.
'Ah--he looks like a man to be on good terms with his uncle,' sneeredCaptain Bouncey.
'Make no doubt he pays him many a visit,' observed Seedeybuck.
'Indeed! that's all you know,' snapped Lady Scattercash.
'It's not all I know,' replied Seedeybuck.
'Well, then, what else do you know?' asked she.
'I know he has nothing,' replied Seedey.
'How do you know it?'
'I _know_,' said Seedey, with an emphasis, now settling to his stroke.
'Well, never mind,' retorted her ladyship; 'if he has nothing, she hasnothing, and nothing can be nicer.'
So saying, she hurried out of the room.
Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Page 65