‘True,’ replied Jack, after a long-drawn whiff and another adjustment of the end of his cigar; ‘say that ‘‘a splendid field of well-appointed sportsmen’’ --’
‘A splendid field of well-appointed sportsmen,’ wrote Sponge. ‘ ‘‘Among whom we recognised several distinguished strangers and members of Lord Scamperdale’s hunt.’’ That means you and I,’ observed Jack.
‘ ‘‘Of Lord Scamperdale’s hunt -- that means you and I’’ ’ -- read Sponge, as he wrote it.
‘But you’re not to put in that; you’re not to write ‘‘that means you and I,’’ my man,’ observed Jack.
‘Oh, I thought that was part of the sentence,’ replied Sponge.
‘No, no;’ said Jack, ‘I meant to say that you and I were the distinguished strangers and members of Lord Scamperdale’s hunt; but that’s between ourselves you know.’
‘Good,’ said Sponge; ‘then I’ll strike that out,’ running his pen through the words ‘that means you and I.’ ‘Now get on,’ said he, appealing to Jack, adding, ‘we’ve a deal to do yet.’
‘Say,’ said Jack, ‘ ‘‘after partaking of the well-known profuse and splendid hospitality of Hanby House, they proceeded at once to Hollyburn Hanger, where a fine seasoned fox’’ -- though some said he was a bag one -- ’
‘Did they?’ exclaimed Sponge, adding, ‘well, I thought he went away rather queerly.’
‘Oh, it was only old Bung the brewer, who runs down every run he doesn’t ride.’
‘Well, never mind,’ replied Sponge, ‘we’ll make the best of it, whatever it was;’ writing away as he spoke, and repeating the words ‘bag one’ as he penned them.
‘ ‘‘Broke away,’’ ’ continued Jack --
‘ ‘‘In view of the whole field,’’ ’ added Sponge.
‘Just so,’ assented Jack.
‘ ‘‘Every hound scoring to cry, and making the’’ -- the -- the -- what d’ye call the thing?’ asked Jack.
‘Country,’ suggested Sponge.
‘No,’ replied Jack, with a shake of the head.
‘Hill and dale?’ tried Sponge again.
‘Welkin!’ exclaimed Jack, hitting it off himself -- ‘ ‘‘makin’ the welkin ring with their melody!’’ makin’ the welkin ring with their melody,’ repeated he, with exultation.
‘Capital!’ observed Sponge, as he wrote it.
‘Equal to Littlelegs,’1 said Jack, squinting his eyes inside out.
‘We’ll make a grand thing of it,’ observed Sponge.
‘So we will,’ replied Jack, adding, ‘if we had but a book of po’try we’d weave in some lines here. You haven’t a book o’ no sort with you that we could prig a little po’try from?’ asked he.