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Updated: September 20, 2025
Watchorn to the stable, whither his resolute legs carried him as soon as the champagne wrought the wonderful change in his opinion of the weather, though, as he every now and then crossed a spangled piece of ground upon which the sun had not struck, or stopped to crack a piece of ice with his toe, he shook his heated head and doubted whether he was Cardinal Wiseman for making the attempt.
What man dare, I dare; he who dares more, is no man, added Watchorn, giving his fat thigh a hearty slap. 'Well done, old Talliho! exclaimed Miss Glitters. 'We'll have you on the stage next. 'What will you wet your whistle with after your fine speech? asked Lady Scattercash. 'Take a tumbler of chumpine, if there is any, replied Watchorn, looking about for a long-necked bottle.
Oh, what a row, what a riot, what a racket! Watchorn being 'in' for it, and recollecting how many saw a start who never thought of seeing a finish, immediately got his horse by the head, and singled himself out from the crowd now pressing at his horse's heels, determining, if the hounds didn't run into their fox in the park, to ride them off the scent at the very first opportunity.
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.
So anxious were they about him, that not one of them thought of resuming the chase. Even the lagging whips couldn't leave him. George Cheek was presently hors de combat in a hedge, and Watchorn seeing him 'see-sawing, exclaimed, as he slipped through a gate: 'I'll send your mar to you, you young 'umbug.
Muddyman, the farmer's four-year-old, had enough at the end of ten minutes; both the whips tired theirs in a quarter of an hour; and in less than twenty minutes Watchorn and Sponge were alone in their glory, or rather Sponge was in his glory, for Watchorn's horse was beat. 'Lend me your horn! exclaimed Sponge, as he heard by the hammer and pincering of Watchorn's horse, it was all U P with him.
'Oh yes, replied Sir Harry; 'Watchorn will manage all that. We'd better have a hunt soon, and then, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey was to get rid of Mr. Sponge. 'No; Mr. Bugles won't go out any more, replied Lady Scattercash peremptorily. 'He was nearly killed last time'; her ladyship casting an angry glance at her husband, and a very loving one on the object of her solicitude.
'F-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! elongated Watchorn, rising in his stirrups, and looking back with a grin at George Cheek, who was plying his weed with the whip, exclaiming, 'Ah, you confounded young warmint, I'll give you a warmin'! I'll teach you to jaw about 'untin'!
Watchorn fell back, and the astonished pack poured over his prostrate body, regardless alike of his holiday coat, his tidy tie, and toilenette vest. What a scrimmage! What a kick-up was there!
'Get me my horn! get me my whop! get me my cap! get me my bouts! exclaimed Watchorn, as he recovered his legs, and saw his wife eyeing the scene from the door. 'Get me my bouts! get me my cap! get me my whop! get me my horn, woman! continued he, reversing the order of things, and rubbing the hounds' feetmarks off his clothes as he spoke. Mrs.
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