Just then, the iron latch of a door at the top of the house opened, and a female voice exclaimed hurriedly over the banisters: 'Yes, sir! here, sir! comin' sir! comin'!' 'Oh, Murry Ann (puff), that's (wheeze) you, is it?' asked Jog, still speaking at the top of his voice. 'Yes, sir,' replied Mary Ann. 'Oh! then, Murry Ann, I wanted to (puff)--that you'd better get the (puff) breakfast ready early. I think Mr. (gasp)--Sponge will be (wheezing) away to-day.' 'Yes, sir,' replied Mary Ann. All this was said in such a tone as could not fail to be heard all over the house; certainly into Mr. Sponge's room, which was midway between the speakers. What prevented Mr. Sponge wheezing away, will appear in the next chapter. CHAPTER L SIR HARRY SCATTERCASH'S HOUNDS [Illustration] The reason Mr. Sponge did not take his departure, after the pretty intelligible hint given by his host, was that, as he was passing his shilling army razor over his soapy chin, he saw a stockingless lad, in a purply coat and faded hunting-cap, making his way up to the house, at a pace that betokened more than ordinary vagrancy. It was the kennel, stable, and servants' hall courier of Nonsuch House, come to say that Sir Harry hunted that day. Presently Mr. Leather knocked at Mr. Sponge's bedroom door, and, being invited in, announced the fact. 'Sir 'Arry's 'ounds 'unt,' said he, twisting the door handle as he spoke. 'What time?' asked Mr. Sponge, with his half-shaven face turned towards him. 'Meet at eleven,' replied Leather. 'Where?' inquired Mr. Sponge. 'Nonsuch House, 'bout nine miles off.' It was thirteen, but Mr. Leather heard the malt liquor was good and wanted to taste it. 'Take on the brown, then,' said Mr. Sponge, quite pompously;' and tell Bartholomew to have the hack at the door at ten--or say a quarter to. Tell him, I'll lick him for every minute he's late; and, mind, don't let old Rory O'More here know,' meaning our friend Jog, 'or he may take a fancy to go, and we shall never get there,' alluding to their former excursion. 'No, no,' replied Mr. Leather, leaving the room. Mr. Sponge then arrayed himself in his hunting costume--scarlet coat, green tie, blue vest, gosling-coloured cords, and brown tops; and was greeted with a round of applause from the little Jogs as he entered the breakfast-room. Gustavus James would handle him; and, considering that his paws were all over raspberry jam, our friend would as soon have dispensed with his attentions. Mrs. Jog was all smiles, and Jog all scowls. A little after ten our friend, cigar in mouth, was in the saddle. Mrs. Jog, with Gustavus James in her arms, and all the children clustering about, stood in the passage to see him start, and watch the capers and caprioles of the piebald, as he ambled down the avenue.