'Why, I can really hardly tell you that,' replied Sponge. 'There were two men out, either of whom might be him; at least, they both seemed to take the lead, and--and--' he was going to say 'blow up the people,' but he thought he might as well keep that to himself. 'Stout, hale-looking men, dressed much alike, with great broad tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles on?' asked Jawleyford. 'Just so,' replied Sponge. 'Ah, you are right, then,' rejoined Jawleyford; 'it would be my lord.' 'And who was the other?' inquired our friend. 'Oh, that Jack Spraggon,' replied Jawleyford, curling up his nose, as if he was going to be sick; 'one of the most odious wretches under the sun. I really don't know any man that I have so great a dislike to, so utter a contempt for, as that Jack, as they call him.' 'What 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.'