Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 63

'My dear fellow, if you don't know your own stomach by this time, you did ought to do,' replied Mr. Sponge.

'I (puff) flatter myself I _do_ (wheeze) my own stomach,' replied Jogglebury tartly.

They then rumbled on for some time in silence.

When they came within sight of Sn.o.bston Green, the coast was clear. Not a red coat, or hunting indication of any sort, was to be seen.

'I told you so (puff)!' growled Jog, blowing full into his frill, and pulling up short.

'They be gone to Hackberry Dean,' said an old man, breaking stones by the roadside.

'Hackberry Dean (puff)--Hackberry Dean (wheeze)!' replied Jog thoughtfully; 'then we must (puff) by Tollarton Mill, and through the (wheeze) village to Stewley?' 'Y-e-a-z,' drawled the man.

Jog then drove on a few paces, and turned up a lane to the left, whose finger-post directed the road 'to Tollarton.' He seemed less disconcerted than Sponge, who kept inwardly anathematizing, not only 'Obin and Ichard,'

but 'Diddle, diddle, doubt'--'Bah, bah, black sheep'--the whole tribe of nursery ballads, in short.

The fact was, Jog wanted to be into Hackberry Dean, which was full of fine, straight hollies, fit either for gibbeys or whip-sticks, and the hounds being there gave him the entree. It was for helping himself there, without this excuse, that he had been 'county-courted,' and he did not care to renew his acquaintance with the judge. He now whipped and jagged the old nag, as if intent on catching the hounds. Mr. Sponge liberated his whip from the ap.r.o.n-straps, and lent a hand when Jog began to flag. So they rattled and jingled away at an amended pace. Still it seemed to Mr. Sponge as if they would never get there. Having pa.s.sed through Tollarton, and cleared the village of Stewley, Mr. Sponge strained his eyes in every direction where there was a bit of wood, in hopes of seeing something of the hounds. Meanwhile Jog was shuffling his little axe from below the cus.h.i.+on of the driving-seat into the pocket of his great-coat. All of a sudden he pulled up, as they were pa.s.sing a bank of wood (Hackberry Dean), and handing the reins to his companion, said:

'Just lay hold for a minute whilst I (puff) out.'

'What's happened?' asked Sponge. 'Not sick again, are you?'

'No (puff), not exactly (wheeze) sick, but I want to be out all the (puff) same.'

So saying, out he bundled, and, crus.h.i.+ng through the fern-grown woodbiney fence, darted into the wood in a way that astonished our hero. Presently the chop, chop, chop of the axe revealed the mystery.

'By the powers, the fool's at his sticks!' exclaimed Sponge, disgusted at the contretemps. 'Mister Jogglebury!' roared he, 'Mister Jogglebury, we shall never catch up the hounds at this rate!'

But Jog was deaf--chop, chop, chop was all the answer Mr. Sponge got.

'Well, hang me if ever I saw such a fellow!' continued Sponge, thinking he would drive on if he only knew the way.

'Chop, chop, chop,' continued the axe.

'Mister Jogglebury! Mister Jogglebury Crowdey _a-hooi_!' roared Sponge, at the top of his voice.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MR. JOGGLEBURY CROWDEY ON HIS HOBBY]

The axe stopped. 'Anybody comin'?' resounded from the wood.

'_You come_,' replied Mr. Sponge.

'Presently,' was the answer; and the chop, chop, chopping was resumed.

'The man's mad,' muttered Mr. Sponge, throwing himself back in the seat.

At length Jog appeared brus.h.i.+ng 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 ap.r.o.n-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 s.h.i.+ning at the end.

Just as Mr. Sponge caught view of the water, the tw.a.n.g of a horn was heard, and the hounds came pouring, full cry, out of cover, followed by about twenty variously clad hors.e.m.e.n, 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.

'Don't you see,' asked Sponge tartly, 'there's a road by the corn-stacks yonder?' Pointing them out.

'I see,' replied Jogglebury, blowing freely into his s.h.i.+rt-frill. 'I see,'

repeated he, staring that way; 'but I think (puff) that's a mere (wheeze) occupation road, leading to (gasp) nowhere.'

'Never mind, let's try!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, giving the rein a jerk, to get the horse into motion again; adding, 'it's no use sitting here, you know, like a couple of fools, when the hounds are running.'

'Couple of (puff)!' growled Jog, not liking the appellation, and wis.h.i.+ng to be home with the long holly. 'I don't see anything (wheeze) foolish in the (puff) business.'

'There they are!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, who had kept his eye on the spot he last viewed them, and now saw the hors.e.m.e.n t.i.tt-up-ing across a gra.s.s field in the easy way that distance makes very uneasy riding look. 'Cut along!'

exclaimed he, laying into the horse's hind-quarters with his hunting-whip.

'Don't! the horse is (puff) tired,' retorted Jog angrily, holding the horse, instead of letting him go to Sponge's salute.

'Not a bit on't!' exclaimed Sponge; 'fresh as paint! Spring him a bit, that's a good fellow!' added he.