while the riders
stood glorying in the splendour of the thing. All had a direct interest in
making it out as good as possible, and Mr. Bragg was quite ready to
appropriate as much praise as ever they liked to give.

''Ord dim him,' said he, turning up the fox's grim head with his foot, 'but
Mr. Bragg's an awkward customer for gen'lemen of your description.'

'You hunted him well!' exclaimed Charley Slapp, who was trumpeter general
of the establishment.

'Oh, sir,' replied Bragg, with a smirk and a condescending bow, 'if Richard
Bragg can't kill foxes, I don't know who can.'

Just then 'Puffington and Co.' hove in sight up the valley, their faces
beaming with delight as the tableau before them told the tale. They
hastened to the spot.

'How many brace is that?' asked Puffington, with the most matter-of-course
air, as he trotted up, and reined in his horse outside the circle.

'Seventeen brace, your grace, I mean to say my lord, that's to say _sur_,'
replied Bragg, with a strong emphasis on the _sur_, as if to say, 'I'm not
used to you snobs of commoners.'

'Seventeen brace!' sneered Jack Spraggon to Sponge, adding, in a whisper,
'More like _seven_ foxes.'

'And how many run to ground?' asked Puffington, alighting.

'Four brace,' replied Bragg, stooping to cut off the brush.

We were wrong in saying that Bragg only allowed Puff the privilege of
nodding his head to say when he might throw off. He let him lead the 'lie
gallop' in the kill department.

Mr. Puffington then presented Mr. Sponge with the brush, and the usual
solemnities being observed, the sherry flasks were produced and drained,
the biscuits munched, and, amidst the smoke of cigars, the ring broke up in
great good-will.

CHAPTER XXXIX

Writing A Run

[Illustration: letter T]

The first fumes of excitement over, after a run with a kill, the field
begin to take things more coolly and veraciously, and ere long some of them
begin to pick holes in the affair. The men of the hunt run it up, while
those of the next hunt run it down. Added to this there are generally some
cavilling, captious fellows in every field who extol a run to the master's
face, and abuse it behind his back. So it was on the present occasion. The
men of the hunt--Charley Slapp, Lumpleg, Guano, Crane, Washball, and
others--lauded and magnified it into something magnificent; while Fossick,
Fyle, Wake, Blossomnose, and others of the 'Flat Hat Hunt,' pronounced it a
niceis