‘O, dim it!’ exclaimed Bragg, clasping the front of the stand as if it was a horse, and throwing himself off, an operation that had the effect of bringing the new saddle on which he was seated bang on the floor.  ’O, sc-e-e-use me, sir,’ seeing it was his master, ’I thought it was my servant; this, sir,’ continued he, blushing and looking as foolish as men do when caught getting their hair curled or sitting for their portraits, ’this, sir, is my friend, Mr. Ruddle, the painter, sir—­yes, sir—­very talented young man, sir—­asked me to sit for my portrait, sir—­is going to publish a series of portraits of all the best huntsmen in England, sir.’

‘And masters of hounds,’ interposed Mr. Ruddle, casting a sheep’s eye at Mr. Puffington.

‘And masters of hounds, sir,’ repeated Mr. Bragg; ’yes, sir, and masters of hounds, sir’; Mr. Bragg being still somewhat flurried at the unexpected intrusion.

‘Ah, well,’ interrupted Mr. Puffington, who was still eager about his mission, ‘we’ll talk about that after.  At present I’m come to tell you,’ continued he, holding up Mr. Sponge’s note, ’that we must brush up a little—­going to have a visit of inspection from the great Mr. Sponge.’

‘Indeed, sir!’ replied Mr. Bragg, with the slightest possible touch of his cap, which he still kept on.  ’Mr. Sponge, sir!—­indeed, sir—­Mr. Sponge, sir—­pray who may he be, sir?’

’Oh—­why—­hay—­hum—­haw—­he’s Mr. Sponge, you know—­been hunting with Lord Scamperdale, you know—­great sportsman, in fact—­great authority, you know.’  ’Indeed—­great authority is he—­indeed—­oh—­yes—­thinks so p’raps—­sc-e-e-use me, sir, but des-say, sir, I’ve forgot more, sir, than Mr. Sponge ever knew, sir.’

‘Well, but you mustn’t tell him so,’ observed Mr. Puffington, fearful that Bragg might spoil sport.

‘Oh, tell him—­no,’ sneered Bragg, with a jerk of the head; ’tell him—­no; I’m not exactly such a donkey as that; on the contrary, I’ll make things pleasant, sir—­sugar his milk for him, sir, in short, sir.’

‘Sugar his milk!’ exclaimed Mr. Puffington, who was only a matter-of-fact man; ‘sugar his milk!  I dare say he takes tea.’

‘Well, then, sugar his tea,’ replied Bragg, with a smile, adding, ’can ‘commodate myself, sir, to circumstances, sir,’ at the same time taking off his cap and setting a chair for his master.

‘Thank you, but I’m not going to stay,’ replied Mr. Puffington; ’I only came up to let you know who you had to expect, so that you might prepare, you know—­have all on the square, you know—­best horses—­best hounds—­best appearance in general, you know.’

‘That I’ll attend to,’ replied Mr. Bragg, with a toss of the head—­’that I’ll attend to,’ repeated he, with an emphasis on the I’ll, as much as to say, ‘Don’t you meddle with what doesn’t concern you.’