Mr. Sponge fell to with avidity.  He was always ready to eat, and attacked first one thing and then another, as though he had not had any breakfast at Puddingpote Bower.

Sir Harry remained mute for some minutes, sitting cross-legged and backwards in his chair, with his throbbing temples resting upon the back, wondering where it was that he had met Mr. Sponge.  He looked different without his hat; and, though he saw it was no one he knew particularly, he could not help thinking he had seen him before.

Indeed, he thought it was clear, from Mr. Sponge’s manner, that they had met, and he was just going to ask him whether it was at Offley’s or the Coal Hole, when a sudden move outside attracted his attention.  It was the hounds.

The huntsman’s horse having at length returned from the fiddler hunt, and being whisped over, and made tolerably decent, Mr. Watchorn, having exchanged the postilion saddle in which it had been ridden for a horn-cased hunting one, had mounted, and, opening the kennel-door, had liberated the pent-up pack, who came tearing out full cry and spread themselves over the country, regardless alike of the twang, twang, twang of the horn and the furious onslaught of a couple of stable lads in scarlet and caps, who, true to the title of ‘whippers-in,’ let drive at all they could get within reach of.  The hounds had not been out, even to exercise, since the Snobston-Green day, and were as wild as hawks.  They were ready to run anything.  Furious and Furrier tackled with a cow.  Bountiful ran a black cart-colt, and made him leap the haw-haw.  Sempstress, Singwell, and Saladin (puppies), went after some crows.  Mercury took after the stable cat, while old Thunderer and Come-by-chance (supposed to be one of Lord Scamperdale’s) joined in pursuit of a cur.  Watchorn, however, did not care for these little ebullitions of spirit, and never having been accustomed to exercise the Camberwell and Balham Hill Union Harriers, he did not see any occasion for troubling the fox-hounds.  ‘They would soon settle,’ he said, ’when they got a scent.’

It was this riotous start that diverted Sixteen-string’d Jack’s attention from our friend, and, looking out of the window, Mr. Sponge saw all the company preparing to be off.  There was the elegant Bugles mounting her ladyship’s white Arab; the brothers Spangles climbing on to their cream-colours; Mr. This getting on to the postman’s pony, and Mr. That on to the gamekeeper’s.  Mr. Sponge hurried out to get to the brown ere his anger arose at being left behind, and provoked a scene.  He only just arrived in time; for the twang of the horn, the cracks of the whips, the clamorous rates of the servants, the yelping of the hounds, and the general commotion, had got up his courage, and he launched out in such a way, when Mr. Sponge mounted, as would have shot a loose rider into the air.  As it was, Mr. Sponge grappled manfully with him, and, letting the Latchfords into his sides, shoved him in front of the throng, as if nothing had happened.  Mr. Leather then slunk back to the stables, to get out the hack to have a hunt in the distance.