'Dare say,' replied Mr. Sponge; 'Cock-anything-you-like-to-call-it for me. Well, when we got there, I thought we should have some breathing time, for the fox would be sure to hug it. But no; no sooner had I got there than a countryman hallooed him away on the far side. I got to the halloo as quick as I could, and just as I was blowing the horn,' producing Watchorn's from his pocket as he spoke; 'for I must tell you,' said he, 'that when I saw the huntsman's horse was beat, I took this from him--a horn to a foot huntsman being of no more use, you know, than a side-pocket to a cow, or a frilled shirt to a pig. Well, as I was tootleing the horn for hard life, who should turn out of the wood but old mealy-mouth himself, as you call him, and a pretty volley of abuse he let drive at me.' 'No doubt,' hiccuped Sir Harry; 'but what was _he_ doing there?' 'Oh! I should tell you,' replied Mr. Sponge, 'his hounds had run a fox into it, and were on him full cry when I got there.' 'I'll be bund,' cried Sir Harry, 'it was all sham--that he just (hiccup) and excuse for getting into that cover. The old (hiccup) beggar is always at some trick, (hiccup)-ing my foxes or disturbing my covers or something,' Sir Harry being just enough of a master of hounds to be jealous of the neighbouring ones. 'Well, however, there he was,' continued Mr. Sponge; 'and the first intimation I had of the fact was a great, gruff voice, exclaiming, "Who the Dickens are you?" '"Who the Dickens are you?" replied I.' 'Bravo!' shouted Sir Harry. 'Capital!' exclaimed Seedeybuck. 'Go it, you cripples! Newgate's on fire!' shouted Captain Quod. 'Well, what said he?' asked Sir Harry. '"They commonly call me the Earl of Scamperdale," roared he, "and those are MY HOUNDS." '"They're _not_ your hounds," replied I. '"Whose are they, then?" asked he. '"Sir Harry Scattercash's, a devilish deal better fellow," replied I. '"Oh, by Jove!" roared he, "there's an end of everything, Jack," shouted he to old Spraggon, "this gentleman says these are not my hounds!" '"I'll tell you what it is, my lord," said I, gathering my whip and riding close up as if I was goin' to pitch into him, "I'll tell you what it is; you think, because you're a lord, you may abuse people as you like, but by Jingo you've mistaken your man. I'll not put up with any of your nonsense. The Sponges are as old a family as the Scamperdales, and I'll fight you any non-hunting day you like with pistols, broadswords, fists or blunder-busses."' 'Well done you! Bravo! that's your sort!' with loud thumping of tables and clapping of hands, resounded from all parts. 'By Jove, fill him up a stiff'un! he deserves a good drink after that!' exclaimed Sir Harry, pouring Mr. Sponge out a beaker, equal parts brandy and water.