‘The man’s mad,’ muttered Mr. Sponge, throwing himself back in the seat.  At length Jog appeared brushing and tearing his way out of the wood, with two fine hollies under his arm.  He was running down with perspiration, and looked anxiously up and down the road as he blundered through the fence to see if there was any one coming.

‘I really think (puff) this will make a four-in-hander (wheeze),’ exclaimed he, as he advanced towards the carriage, holding a holly so as to show its full length—­’not that I (puff, wheeze, gasp) do much in that (puff, wheeze) line, but really it is such a (puff, wheeze) beauty that I couldn’t (puff, wheeze, gasp) resist it.’

‘Well, but I thought we were going to hunt,’ observed Mr. Sponge dryly.

’Hunt (puff)! so we are (wheeze); but there are no hounds (gasp).  My good (puff) man,’ continued he, addressing a smock-frocked countryman, who now came up, ‘have you seen anything of the (wheeze) hounds?’

‘E-e-s,’ replied the man.  ‘They be gone to Brookdale Plantin’.’

‘Then we’d better (puff) after them,’ said Jog, running the stick through the apron-straps, and bundling into the phaeton with the long one in his hand.

Away they rattled and jingled as before.

‘How far is it?’ asked Mr. Sponge, vexed at the detention.

‘Oh (puff), close by (wheeze),’ replied Jog.

‘Close by,’ as most of our sporting readers well know to their cost, is generally anything but close by.  Nor was Jog’s close by, close by on this occasion.

‘There,’ said Jog, after they had got crawled up Trampington Hill; ’that’s it (puff) to the right, by the (wheeze) water there,’ pointing to a plantation about a mile off, with a pond shining at the end.

Just as Mr. Sponge caught view of the water, the twang of a horn was heard, and the hounds came pouring, full cry, out of cover, followed by about twenty variously clad horsemen, and our friend had the satisfaction of seeing them run clean out of sight, over as fine a country as ever was crossed.  Worst of all, he thought he saw Leather pounding away on the chestnut.

CHAPTER XLVIII

HUNTING THE HOUNDS

Tramptinton Hill, whose summit they had just reached as the hounds broke cover, commanded an extensive view over the adjoining vale, and, as Mr. Sponge sat shading his eyes with his hands from a bright wintry sun, he thought he saw them come to a check, and afterwards bend to the left.

‘I really think,’ said he, addressing his still perspiring companion, ’that if you were to make for that road on the left’ (pointing one out as seen between the low hedge-rows in the distance), ‘we might catch them up yet.’

‘Left (puff), left (wheeze)?’ replied Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey, staring about with anything but the quickness that marked his movements when he dived into Hackberry Dean.