he
servants and parties outside. Puffington's 'mixture' told upon a good many
of them. Washball had a headache, so had Lumpleg; Crane was seedy; and
Captain Guano, sea-green. Soda-water was in great request.

There was a splendid breakfast, table and sideboard looking as if Fortnum
and Mason or Morel had opened a branch establishment at Hanby House. Though
the staying guests could not do much for the good things set out, they were
not wasted, for the place was fairly taken by storm shortly before the
advertised hour of meeting; and what at one time looked like a most
extravagant supply, at another seemed likely to prove a deficiency. Each
man helped himself to whatever he fancied, without waiting for the ceremony
of an invitation, in the usual style of fox-hunting hospitality.

A few minutes before eleven, a 'gently, Rantaway,' accompanied by a slight
crack of a whip, drew the seedy and satisfied parties to the oriel window,
to see Mr. Bragg pass along with his hounds. They were just gliding
noiselessly over the green sward, Mr. Bragg rising in his stirrups, as
spruce as a game-cock, with his thoroughbred bay gambolling and pawing with
delight at the frolic of the hounds, some clustering around him, others
shooting forward a little, as if to show how obediently they would return
at his whistle. Mr. Bragg was known as the whistling huntsman, and was a
great man for telegraphing and signalizing with his arms, boasting that he
could make hounds so handy that they could do everything, except pay the
turnpike-gates. At his appearance the men all began to shuffle to the
passage and entrance-hall, to look for their hats and whips; and presently
there was a great outpouring of red coats upon the lawn, all straddling and
waddling of course. Then Mr. Bragg, seeing an audience, with a slight
whistle and wave of his right arm, wheeled his forces round, and trotted
gaily towards where our guests had grouped themselves, within the light
iron railing that separated the smooth slope from the field. As he reined
in his horse, he gave his cap an aerial sweep, taking off perpendicularly,
and finishing at his horse's ears--an example that was immediately followed
by the whips, and also by Mr. Bragg's second horseman, Tom Stot.

'Good morning, Mister Bragg! Good morning, Mister Bragg!--Good morning,
Mister Bragg!' burst from the assembled spectators: for Mr. Bragg was one
of those people that one occasionally meets whom everybody 'Misters.'