Having at length got all he could out of Tom, Sir Moses then let the hounds flow past him, while he held back for our Billy to come up. They were presently trotting along together a little in the rear of Joe, the second whip. “I’ve surely seen that horse before,” at length observed Sir Moses, after a prolonged stare at our friend’s steed. “Very likely,” replied Billy, “I bought him of the Major.” “The deuce you did!” exclaimed Sir Moses, “then that’s the horse young Tabberton had.” “What, you know him, do you?” asked Billy. “Know him! I should think so,” rejoined Moses; “everybody knows him.” “Indeed!” observed Billy, wondering whether for good or evil. “I dare say, now, the Major would make you give thirty, or five-and-thirty pounds for that horse,” observed Sir Moses, after another good stare. “Far more!” replied Billy, gaily, who was rather proud of having given a hundred guineas. “Far more!” exclaimed Sir Moses with energy; “far more! Ah!” added he, with a significant shake of the head, “he’s an excellent man, the Major—an excellent man,—but a _leet_le too keen in the matter of horses.” Just at this critical moment Tommy Heslop of Hawthorndean, who had been holding back in Crow-Tree Lane to let the hounds pass, now emerged from his halting-place with a “Good morning, Sir Moses, here’s a fine hunting morning?” “Good morning, Tommy, good morning,” replied Sir Moses, extending his right hand; for Tommy was a five-and-twenty pounder besides giving a cover, and of course was deserving of every encouragement. The salute over, Sir Moses then introduced our friend Billy,—“Mr. Pringle, a Featherbedfordshire gentleman, Mr. Heslop,” which immediately excited Tommy’s curiosity—not to say jealousy—for the “Billet” was very “contagious,” for several of the Peer’s men, who always brought their best horses, and did as much mischief as they could, and after ever so good a run, declared it was nothing to talk of. Tommy thought Billy’s horse would not take much cutting down, whatever the rider might do. Indeed, the good steed looked anything but formidable, showing that a bad stable, though “only for one night,” may have a considerable effect upon a horse. His coat was dull and henfeathered; his eye was watery, and after several premonitory sneezes, he at length mastered a cough. Even Billy thought he felt rather less of a horse under him than he liked. Still he didn’t think much of a cough. “Only a slight cold,” as a young lady says when she wants to go to a ball.