is he?' asked Sponge.

'Oh, just a hanger-on of his lordship's; the creature has nothing--nothing
whatever; he lives on my lord--eats his venison, drinks his claret, rides
his horses, bullies those his lordship doesn't like to tackle with, and
makes himself generally useful.'

'He seems a man of that sort,' observed Sponge, as he thought over the
compliment he had received.

'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. Who else was there, then?'
continued he.

'There was a tall man in black, on a good-looking young brown horse, rather
rash at his fences, but a fine style of goer.'

'What!' exclaimed Jawleyford, 'man in drab cords and jack-boots, with the
brim of his hat rather turning upwards?'

'Just so,' replied Sponge; 'and a double ribbon for a hat-string.'

'That's Master Blossomnose,' observed Jawleyford, scarcely able to contain
his indignation. 'That's Master Blossomnose,' repeated he, taking a back
hand at the port in the excitement of the moment. 'More to his credit if he
were to stay at home and attend to his parish,' added Jawleyford; meaning,
it would have been more to his credit if he had fulfilled his engagement to
him that evening, instead of going out hunting in the morning.

The two then sat silent for a time, Sponge seeing where the sore place was,
and Robert Foozle, as usual, seeing nothing. 'Ah, well,' observed
Jawleyford, at length breaking silence, 'it was unfortunate you went this
morning. I did my best to prevent you--told you what a long way it was, and
so on. However, never mind, we will put all right to-morrow. His lordship,
I'm sure, will be most happy to see you. So help yourself,' continued he,
passing the 'Wintle,' 'and we will drink his health and success to
fox-hunting.'

Sponge filled a bumper and drank his lordship's health, with the
accompaniment as desired; and turning to Robert Foozle, who was doing
likewise, said, 'Are you fond of hunting?'

'Yes, I'm fond of hunting,' replied Foozle.

'But you _don't_ hunt, you know, Robert,' observed Jawleyford.

'No, I don't hunt,' replied Robert.

The 'green seal' being demolishe