Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 84

'Bravo, young Chesterfield!' exclaimed Miss Howard; adding, 'what it is to be thick with Lord John Manners!'

'Ar'm not,' growled the boy, amidst the mirth of the company.

'Well, but what must we do with these little (hiccup)?'

asked Sir Harry, at last rising from the breakfast-table, and looking listlessly round the company for an answer.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

'Oh! liquor them well, and send them home to their mammas,' suggested Captain Bouncey, who was all for the drink.

'But they won't take their (hiccup),' replied Sir Harry, holding up a Curacao bottle to show how little had disappeared.

'Try them with cherry brandy,' suggested Captain Seedeybuck; adding, 'it's sweeter. Now, young man,' continued he, addressing George Cheek, as he poured him out a winegla.s.sful, 'this is the real Daffy's elixir that you read of in the papers. It's the finest compound that ever was known. It will make your hair curl, your whiskers grow, and you a man before your mother.'

'N-o-a, n-o-ar, don't want any more,' growled the young gentleman, turning away in disgust. 'Ar won't drink any more.'

'Well, but be sociable,' observed Miss Howard, helping herself to a gla.s.s.

'N-o-a, no, ar don't want to be sociable,' growled he, diving into his trouser-pockets, and wriggling about on his chair.

'Well, then, what _will_ you do?' asked Miss Howard.

'Hunt,' replied the youth.

'Hunt!' exclaimed Bob Spangles; 'why, the ground's as hard as bricks.'

'N-o-a, it's not,' replied the youth.

'What a whelp!' exclaimed Miss Howard, rising from the table in disgust.

'My Uncle Jellyboy wouldn't let such a frost stop him, I know,' observed the boy.

'Who's your Uncle Jellyboy?' asked Miss Glitters.

'He's a farmer, and keeps a few harriers at Scutley,' observed Bob Spangles, _sotto voce_.

'And is that your extraordinary horse with all the legs?' asked Miss Howard, putting her gla.s.s to her eye, and scrutinizing a lank, woolly-coated weed, getting led about by a blue-ap.r.o.ned gardener. 'Is that your extraordinary horse, with all the legs?' repeated she, following the animal about with her gla.s.s.

'Hoots, it hasn't more legs than other people's,' growled George.

'It's got ten, at all events,' replied Miss Howard, to the astonishment of the juveniles.

'Nor, it hasn't,' replied George.

'Yes, it has,' rejoined the lady.

'Nor, it hasn't,' repeated George.

'Come and see,' said the lady; adding, 'perhaps it's put out some since you got off.'

George slouched up to where she stood at the window.

'Now,' said he, as the gardener turned the horse round, and he saw it had but four, 'how many has it?'

'Ten!' replied Miss Howard.

'Hoots,' replied George, 'you think it's April Fool's Day, I dare say.'

'No, I don't,' replied Miss Howard; 'but I maintain your horse has ten legs. See, now!' continued she, 'what do you call these coming here?'

'His two forelegs,' replied George.

'Well, two fours--twice four's eight, eh? and his two hind ones make ten.'

'Hoots,' growled George, amidst the mirth of his comrades, 'you're makin' a fool o' one.'

'Well, but what must I do with all these little (hiccup) creatures?' asked Sir Harry again, seeing the plot still thickening outside.

'Turn them out a bagman?' suggested Mr. Sponge, in an undertone; adding, 'Watchorn has a three-legged 'un, I know, in the hay-loft.'

'Oh, Watchorn wouldn't (hiccup) on such a day as this,' replied Sir Harry.

'New Year's Day, too--most likely away, seeing his young hounds at walk.'

'We might see, at all events,' observed Mr. Sponge.

'Well,' a.s.sented Sir Harry, ringing the bell. 'Peter,' said he, as the servant answered the summons, 'I wish you would (hiccup) to Mr. Watchorn's, and ask if he'll have the kindness to (hiccup) down here.' Sir Harry was obliged to be polite, for Watchorn, too, was on the 'free' list as Miss Glitters called it.

'Yes, Sir Harry,' replied Peter, leaving the room.

Presently Peter's white legs were seen wending their way among the laurels and evergreens, in the direction of Mr. Watchorn's house; he having a house and gra.s.s for six cows, all whose milk, he declared, went to the puppies and young hounds. Luckily, or unluckily perhaps, Mr. Watchorn was at home, and was in the act of shaving as Peter entered. He was a square-built dark-faced, dark-haired, good-looking, ill-looking fellow who cultivated his face on the four-course system of husbandry. First, he had a bare fallow--we mean a clean shave; that of course was followed by a full crop of hair all over, except on his upper lip; then he had a soldier's shave, off by the ear; which in turn was followed by a Newgate frill. The latter was his present style. He had now no whiskers, but an immense protuberance of bristly black hair, rising like a wave above his kerchief. Though he cared no more about hunting than his master, he was very fond of his red coat, which he wore on all occasions, subst.i.tuting a hat for a cap when 'off duty,' as he called it. Having attired himself in his best scarlet, of which he claimed three a year--one for wet days, one for dry days, another for high days--very natty kerseymere shorts and gaiters, with a small-striped, standing-collar, toilenette waistcoat, he proceeded to obey the summons.

'Watchorn,' said Sir Harry, as the important gentleman appeared at the breakfast-room door--'Watchorn, these young (hiccup) gentlemen want a (hiccup) hunt.'

'Oh! want must be their master, Sir 'Arry,' replied Watchorn, with a broad grin on his flushed face, for he had been drinking all night, and was half drunk then.

'Can't you manage it?' asked Sir Harry, mildly.

"Ow is't possible. Sir 'Arry,' asked the huntsman, "ow is't possible? No man's fonder of 'untin' than I am, but to turn out on sich a day as this would be a daring--a desperate violation of all the laws of registered propriety. The Pope's bull would be nothin' to it!'

'How so?' asked Sir Harry, puzzled with the jumble.

'How so?' repeated Watchorn; 'how so? Why, in the fust place, it's a mortal 'ard frost, 'arder nor hiron; in the second place, I've got no arrangements made--you can't turn out a pack of 'igh-bred fox-'ounds as you would a lot of "staggers" or "muggers"; and, in the third place, you'll knock all your nags to bits, and they are a deal better in their wind than they are on their legs, as it is. No, Sir 'Arry--no,' continued he, slowly and thoughtfully. 'No, Sir 'Arry, no. Be Cardinal Wiseman, for once. Sir 'Arry; be Cardinal Wiseman for once, and don't _think_ of it.'

'Well,' replied Sir Harry, looking at George Cheek, 'I suppose there's no help for it.'

'It was quite a thaw where I came from,' observed Cheek, half to Sir Harry and half to the huntsman.

"Deed, sir, 'deed,' replied Mr. Watchorn, with a chuck of his fringed chin, 'it generally is a thaw everywhere but where hounds meet.'