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Updated: May 5, 2025
It was very soon 'my hounds, and 'my horses, and 'my whips'; and he wrote to Jawleyford, and Puffington, and Guano, and Lumpleg, and Washball, and Spraggon, offering to make meets to suit their convenience, and even to mount them if required.
Puffington was interrupted in the comparison he was about to draw between his lordship's hounds and his, by arriving at the Bolsover brick-fields, and seeing Jack and Blossomnose, horse in hand, running to and fro, while sundry countrymen blobbed about in the clay-hole they had so recently occupied. Tom Washball, Mr. Wake, Mr. Fyle, Mr.
'Well, who else had you out, then? asked Jawleyford. 'Was Tom Washball there? 'No, replied Sponge: 'he wasn't out, I know. 'Ah, that's unfortunate, observed Jawleyford, helping himself and passing the bottle. 'Tom's a capital fellow a perfect gentleman great friend of mine. If he'd been out you'd have had nothing to do but mention my name, and he'd have put you all right in a minute.
'Well, said Sponge to Spraggon, between the whiffs of a cigar, as they rode together; 'it wasn't so bad, was it? 'Bad! no, squinted Jack, 'devilish good for Puff, at least, adding, 'I question he's had a better this season. 'Well, we are in luck, observed Tom Washball, riding up and joining them; we are in luck to have a satisfactory thing with you great connoisseurs out.
'A pretty thing enough, replied Jack, 'pretty thing enough. 'Oh, I don't mean to say it's equal to many we've had this season, replied Washball; 'nothing like the Boughton Hill day, nor yet the Hembury Forest one; but still, considering the meet and the state of the country
There was a great gathering, at least for the Flat Hat Hunt, who seldom mustered above a dozen. Tom Washball came, in a fine new coat and new flat-fliped hat with a broad binding; also Mr. Sparks, of Spark Hall; Major Mark; Mr. Archer, of Cheam Lodge; Mr. Reeves, of Coxwell Green; Mr. Bliss, of Boltonshaw; Mr. Joyce, of Ebstone; Dr. Capon, of Calcot; Mr. Dribble, of Hook; Mr.
Nothing daunted, however, they returned to the charge, and without troubling the reader with unnecessary detail, we think it will be generally admitted that they at length made an excellent selection in Mr. Puffington, Guano, and Tom Washball.
The last recital I gave him of what he said for half an hour before was, 'What, the devil! where is the washball? call the chairmen! d n them, I warrant they are at the alehouse already! zounds! and confound them! When he came to the glass he takes up my note 'Ha! this fellow is worse than me: what, does he swear with pen and ink? But, reading on, he found them to be his own words.
'No, I never was at one before, replies Robert. And though last not least, here's Facey Romford, with his arm in a sling, on Mr. Hobler, come to look after that sivin-p'und-ten, which we wish he may get. Hark! there's a row below the stand, and Viney is seen in a state of excitement inquiring for Mr. Washball.
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