But it was not all over yet.  Having got the ticket Jog examined it minutely, to see that it was all right, then held it to his nose to smell it, and ultimately drew the purse slide, and deposited it among the sovereigns.  He then restored that expensive trophy to his pocket, shook his leg, to send it down, then buttoned the pocket, and took the tight black coat with both hands and dragged it across his chest, so as to get his stomach in.  He then gasped and held his breath, making himself as small as possible, while he coaxed the buttons into the holes; and that difficult process being at length accomplished, he stood still awhile to take breath after the exertion.  Then he began to rebutton the easy, brown great-coat, going deliberately up the whole series, from the small button below, to keep the laps together, up to the one on the neck, or where the neck would have been if Jog had not been all stomach up to the chin.  He then soused himself into his seat, and, snorting heavily through his nostrils, took the reins and whip and long holly from Mr. Sponge, and drove leisurely on.  Sponge sat anathematizing his slowness.

When they reached the farmhouse on the hill the hounds were fairly in view.  The huntsman was casting them, and the horsemen were grouped about as usual, while the laggers were stealing quietly up the lanes and by-roads, thinking nobody would see them.  Save the whites or the greys, our friends in the ‘chay’ were not sufficiently near to descry the colours of the horses; but Mr. Sponge could not help thinking that he recognized the outline of the wicked chestnut, Multum-in-Parvo.

‘By the powers, but if it is him,’ muttered he to himself, clenching his fist and grinding his teeth as he spoke, ’but I’ll—­I’ll—­I’ll make sich an example of you,’ meaning of Leather.

Mr. Sponge could not exactly say what he would do, for it was by no means a settled point whether Leather or he were master.  But to the hounds.  If it had not been for Mr. Sponge’s shabbiness at the turnpike gate, we really believe he might now have caught them up, for the road to them was down hill all the way, and the impetus of the vehicle would have sent the old screw along.  That delay, however, was fatal.  Before they had gone a quarter of the distance the hounds suddenly struck the scent at a hedge-row, and, with heads up and sterns down, went straight away at a pace that annihilated all hope.  They were out of sight in a minute.  It was clearly a case of kill.

‘Well, there’s a go!’ exclaimed Mr. Sponge, folding his arms, and throwing himself back in the phaeton in disgust.  ’I think I never saw such a mess as we’ve made this morning.’

And he looked at the stick in the apron, and the long holly between Jog’s legs, and longed to lay them about his great back.

‘Well (puff), I s’pose (wheeze) we may as well (puff) home now?’ observed Jog, looking about him quite unconcernedly.

‘I think so,’ snapped Sponge, adding, ’we’ve done it for once, at all events.’