‘Oh no!’ replied Sponge.  ’Oh no!—­fell soft—­fell soft.  More dirt, less hurt—­more dirt, less hurt.’

‘Why, you’ve been in a bog!’ exclaimed Mr. Puffington, eyeing the much-stained Hercules.

‘Almost over head,’ replied Sponge.  ’Scamperdale saw me going, and hadn’t the grace to halloa.’

‘Ah, that’s like him,’ replied Mr. Puffington, ’that’s like him:  there’s nothing 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 it indeed—­far from it; but, low be it spoken,’ added he, ’his lordship is only 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; and if ever a stranger looks near them, they make a point of being as rude and disagreeable to him as they possibly can.  This is what they call keeping the hunt select.’  ‘Indeed,’ observed Mr. Sponge, recollecting how they had complimented him, adding, ‘they seem a queer set.’

‘There’s a fellow they call “Jack,"’ observed Mr. Puffington, ’who acts as a sort of bulldog to his lordship, and worries whoever his lordship sets him upon.  He got into a clay-hole a little farther back, and a precious splashing 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 of general acquaintance with all the hounds and masters—­indeed, with all the meets of all the hounds in the kingdom—­which he read in the weekly lists in 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 in horses?’

‘Yours, of course,’ replied Mr. Puffington, bowing; adding something about great 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 staying now?’

‘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 of budging at present.’

‘Ah, well—­good quarters,’ said Mr. Puffington, who now smelt a rat; ’good quarters—­nice girls—­fine fortune—­fine place, Jawleyford Court.  Well, book me for the next visit,’ added he.  ‘I will,’ said Sponge, ’and no mistake.  What do they call your shop?’