never stopped again till they tumbled him over at the back of Mr Plummey’s farm-buildings, at Shapwick. I’ve got his brush,’ added Tom, producing a much tattered one from his pocket, ‘if you’d like to have it?’

‘Thank you, no -- yes -- no,’ replied Waffles, not wanting to be bothered with it; ‘yet stay,’ continued he, as his eye caught Mr Sponge, who was still on foot beside his vanquished friend; ‘give it to Mr What-de-ye- call-’em,’ added he, nodding towards our hero.

‘Sponge,’ observed Tom, in an undertone, giving the brush to his master.

‘Mr Sponge, will you do me the favour to accept the brush?’ asked Mr Waffles, advancing with it towards him; adding, ‘I am sorry this unlucky bather should have prevented your seeing the end.’

Mr Sponge was a pretty good judge of brushes, and not a bad one of camphire; but if this one had smelt twice as strong as it did -- indeed, if it had dropped to pieces in his hand, or the moths had flown up in his face, he would have pocketed it, seeing it paved the way to what he wanted -- an introduction.

‘I’m very much obliged, I’m sure,’ observed he, advancing to take it -- ‘very much obliged, indeed; been an extremely good run, and fast.’

‘Very fair -- very fair,’ observed Mr Waffles, as though it were nothing in their way; seven miles in twenty minutes, I suppose, or something of that sort.’

‘One-and-twenty,’ interposed Tom, with a laudable anxiety for accuracy.

‘Ah! one-and-twenty,’ rejoined Mr Waffles. ‘I thought it would be somewhere thereabouts. Well, I suppose we’ve all had enough,’ added he; ‘may as well go home and have some luncheon, and then a game at billiards, or rackets, or something. How’s the old water-rat?’ added he, turning to Thornton, who was now busy emptying his cap and mopping the velvet.

The water-rat was as well as could be expected, but did not quite like the new aspect of affairs. He saw that Mr Sponge was a first-rate horseman, and also knew that nothing ingratiated one man with another so much as skill and boldness in the field. It was by that means, indeed, that he had established himself in Mr Waffles’ good graces -- an ingratiation that had been pretty serviceable to him, both in the way of meat, drink, mounting, and money. Had Mr Sponge been, like himself, a needy, penniless adventurer, Caingey would have tried to have kept him out by some of those plausible, admonitory hints, that poverty makes men so obnoxious to; but in the case of a rich, flourishing individual, with such an astonishing stud as Leather made him out to have, it was clearly Caingey’s policy to knock under and be subservient to Mr Sponge also. Caingey, we should observe, was a bold, reckless rider, never seeming to care for his neck, but he was no match for Mr Sponge, who had both skill and courage.

Caingey being at length cleansed from his weeds, wiped from his mud, and made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, was now hoisted on to the renowned steeplechase horse again, who had scrambled out of the brook on the taking-off side, and, after meandering the banks for a certain distance, had been caught by the bridle in the branch of a willow -- Caingey, we say, being again mounted, Mr Sponge also, without hindrance from the resolute brown horse, the first whip put himself a little in advance, while old Tom followed with the hounds, and the second whip mingled with the now increasing field, it being generally understood (by the uninitiated, at least) that hounds have no business to go home so long as any gentleman is inclined for a scurrey, no matter whether he has joined early or late. Mr Waffles, on the contrary, was very easily satisfied, and never took the shine off a run with a kill by risking a subsequent defeat. Old Tom, though keen when others were keen, was not indifferent to his comforts, and soon came into the way of thinking that it was just as well to get home to his mutton-chops at two or three o’clock, as to be groping his way about bottomless by-roads on dark winter nights.

As he retraced his steps homeward, and overtook the scattered field of the morning, his talent for invention, or rather stretching, was again called into requisition.