‘A fox for a thousand!’ exclaimed Mr. Bragg, eyeing them, and looking at his watch.

‘Oh, d—­mn me!  I’ve got one stirrup longer than another now!’ roared Captain Guano, trying the fresh adjustment.  ’I’ve got one stirrup longer than another!’ added he in a terrible pucker.

[Illustration]

A low snatch of a whimper now proceeded from Galloper, and Bragg cheered him to the echo.  In another second a great banging brown fox burst from among the broom, and dashed down the little dean.  What noises, what exclamations rent the air!  ‘Talli-ho! talliho! talliho!’ screamed a host of voices, in every variety of intonation, from the half-frantic yell of a party seeing him, down to the shout of a mere partaker of the epidemic.  Shouting is very contagious.  The horsemen gathered up their reins, pressed down their hats, and threw away their cigar-ends.

‘’Ord hang it!’ roared Captain Guano, still fumbling at the leathers, ’I shall never be able to ride with stirrups in this state.’

‘Hang your stirrups!’ exclaimed Charley Slapp, shooting past him; adding, ‘It was your saddle last time.’

Bragg’s queer tootle of his horn, for he was full of strange blows, now sounded at the low end of the cover; and, having a pet line of gaps and other conveniences that he knew how to turn to on the minute, he soon shot so far ahead as to give him the appearance (to the slow ’uns) of having flown.  Brick and Swipes quickly had all the hounds after him, and Stot, dropping his elbows, made for the road, to ride the second horse gently on the line.  The field, as usual, divided into two parts, the soft riders and the hard ones—­the soft riders going by the fields, the hard riders by the road.  Messrs. Spraggon, Sponge, Slapp, Quilter, Rasper, Crasher, Smasher, and some half-dozen more, bustled after Bragg; while the worthy master Mr. Puffington, Lumpleg, Washball, Crane, Guano, Shirker, and very many others, came pounding along the lane.  There was a good scent, and the hounds shot across the Fleecyhaughwater Meadows, over the hill, to the village of Berrington Roothings, where, the fox having been chased by a cur, the hounds were brought to a check on some very bad scenting-ground, on the common, a little to the left of the village, at the end of a quarter of an hour or so.  The road having been handy, the hard riders were there almost as soon as the soft ones; and there being no impediments on the common, they all pushed boldly on among the now stooping hounds.

‘Hold hard, gentlemen!’ exclaimed Mr. Bragg, rising in his stirrups and telegraphing with his right arm.  ‘Hold hard!—­pray do!’ added he, with little better success.  ‘Dim it, gen’lemen, hold hard!’ added he, as they still pressed upon the pack.  ’Have a little regard for a huntsman’s raputation,’ continued he.  ’Remember that it rises and falls with the sport he shows’—­exhortations that seemed to be pretty well lost upon the field, who began comparing notes as to their respective achievements, enlarging the leaps and magnifying the distance into double what they had been.  Puffington and some of the fat ones sat gasping and mopping their brows.