‘The Sorry Union,’ replied Captain Quod. ‘He was out with them once, and fell off on his head and knocked his hat-crown out.’

‘Well, but I was telling you about the run,’ interposed Mr Sponge, again endeavouring to enlist an audience. ‘I was telling you about the run,’ repeated he.

‘Don’t trouble yourself, my dear sir,’ interrupted Captain Bouncey; ‘we know all about it -- found -- checked -- killed, killed -- found -- checked.’

‘You can’t know all about it!’ snapped Mr Sponge; ‘for there wasn’t a soul there but myself, much to my horror, for I had a reg’lar row with old Scamperdale, and never a soul to back me.’

‘What! you fell in with that mealy-mouthed gentleman, who can’t (hiccup) swear because he’s a (hiccup) lord, did you?’ asked Sir Harry, his attention being now drawn to our friend.

‘I did,’ replied Mr Sponge; ‘and a pretty passage of politeness we had of it.’

‘Indeed! (hiccup),’ exclaimed Sir Harry. ‘Tell us (hiccup) all about it.’

‘Well,’ said Mr Sponge, laying the brush lengthways before him on the table, as if he was going to demonstrate upon it. ‘Well, you see we had a devil of a run -- I don’t know how many miles, as hard as ever we could lay legs to the ground; one by one the field all dropped astern, except the huntsman and myself. At last he gave in, or rather his horse did, and I was left alone in my glory. Well, we went over the downs at a pace that nothing but blood could live with, and, though my horse has never been beat, and is as thorough-bred as Eclipse -- a horse that I have refused three hundred guineas for over and over again, I really, did begin to think I might get to the bottom of him, when all of a sudden we came to a dean.’

‘Ah! Cockthropple that would be,’ observed Sir Harry.

‘Dare say,’ replied Mr Sponge; ‘Cock-anything-you-like-to-call-it for me. Well, when we got there, I thought we should have some breathing time, for the fox would be sure to hug it. But no; no sooner had I got there than a countryman hallooed him away on the far side. I got to the halloo as quick as I could, and just as I was blowing the horn,’ producing Watchorn’s from his pocket as he spoke; ‘for I must tell you,’ said he, ‘that when I saw the huntsman’s horse was beat, I took this from him -- a horn to a foot huntsman being of no more use, you know, than a side-pocket to a cow, or a frilled shirt to a pig. Well, as I was tootleing the horn for hard life, who should turn out of the wood but old mealy-mouth himself, as you call him, and a pretty volley of abuse he let drive at me.’

‘No doubt,’ hiccuped Sir Harry; ‘but what was he doing there?’

‘Oh! I should tell you,’ replied Mr Sponge, ‘his hounds had run a fox into it, and were on him full cry when I got there.’

‘I’ll be bund,’ cried Sir Harry, ‘it was all sham -- that he just (hiccup) and excuse for getting into that cover. The old (hiccup) beggar is always at some trick, (hiccup)ing my foxes or disturbing my covers or something,’ Sir Harry being just enough of a master of hounds to be jealous of the neighbouring ones.

‘Well, however, there he was,’ continued Mr Sponge; ‘and the first intimation I had of the fact was a great, gruff voice, exclaiming, ‘‘Who the Dickens are you?’’

‘ ‘‘Who the Dickens are you?’’ replied I.’

‘Bravo!’ shouted Sir Harry.

‘Capital!’ exclaimed Seedybuck.