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Updated: May 20, 2025
"They commonly call me the Earl of Scamperdale," roared he, "and those are MY HOUNDS." "They're not your hounds," replied I. "Whose are they, then?" asked he. "Sir Harry Scattercash's, a devilish deal better fellow," replied I. "Oh, by Jove!" roared he, "there's an end of everything, Jack," shouted he to old Spraggon, "this gentleman says these are not my hounds!"
A striped jacket is down, and the horse, after a vain effort to rise, sinks lifeless on the ground. On they go all the same! Loud yells of exciting betting burst from the spectators, and Buckram gets well on for the cross. There are now five in front Sponge, Spraggon, Hangallows, Boville, and another; and already the pace begins to tell. It wasn't possible to run it at the rate they started.
'Oh, that Jack Spraggon, replied Jawleyford, curling up his nose, as if he was going to be sick; 'one of the most odious wretches under the sun. I really don't know any man that I have so great a dislike to, so utter a contempt for, as that Jack, as they call him. 'What is he? asked Sponge.
As luck would have it, she encountered his lordship himself wandering about the passage in search of the drawing-room, of whose door he had not made a sufficient observation on leaving. He too, was uncommonly smart, with the identical dress-coat Mr. Spraggon wore, a white waistcoat with turquoise buttons, a lace-frilled shirt, and a most extensive once-round Joinville.
And so they criticized the laggers. 'How did my lord get his horse? asked Spraggon of the groom who had brought them on, who now joined the eye-straining group at the door. 'It was taken down to him at the cover, replied the man. 'My lord went in on foot, and the horse went round the back way.
'You'll be my second, growled Jack, from under the bedclothes. 'Oh! second be hanged, retorted Sponge. 'You've nothing to fight about; Mr. Pacey says he didn't mean anything, that you misunderstood him, and what more can a man want? 'Just so, replied Mr. Pacey, 'just so. I assure you I never intended the slightest imputation on Mr. Spraggon. 'I'm sure not, replied Mr. Sponge.
They talked and they chattered, and they abused Old Scamperdale and Jack Spraggon, and lauded Mr. Sponge up to the skies. Thus day closed in, with Farmer Peastraw's bright fire shedding its cheering glow over the now encircling group.
Spraggon, squinting frightfully at the man, adding, 'go, get me my hack, and don't be talking nonsense there. Our friends then remounted their hacks and parted company in very moderate humours, feeling fully satisfied that his lordship had done it on purpose. 'Hoo-ray, Jack! Hoo-ray! exclaimed Lord Scamperdale, bursting into his sanctum where Mr.
We know better, and without imitating Mr. Jack Spraggon, or reminding every one present of that "two thousand five hundred twenty-five 'undred pounds a year" which Lord Scamperdale did or did not spend on his pack, are very well aware of what our master and the servants and the hounds had done that morning.
Spraggon, if you'll have the kindness to recollect to consider to reflect on what passed, you'll surely remember commissioning me to challenge Mr. Sponge's horse for you? 'Me! exclaimed Jack, bouncing up in bed, and sitting squinting furiously. 'Me! repeated he; 'unpossible. How could I do such a thing? Why, I handicap'd him, man, for you, man? 'You told me, for all that, replied Mr.
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