sure,' observed he, advancing to take
it--'very much obliged, indeed; been an extremely good run, and fast.'

'Very fair--very fair,' observed Mr. Waffles, as though it were nothing in
their way; 'seven miles in twenty minutes, I suppose, or something of that
sort.'

'_One_-and-twenty,' interposed Tom, with a laudable anxiety for accuracy.

'Ah! one-and-twenty,' rejoined Mr. Waffles. 'I thought it would be
somewhere thereabouts. Well, I suppose we've all had enough,' added he,
'may as well go home and have some luncheon, and then a game at billiards,
or rackets, or something. How's the old water-rat?' added he, turning to
Thornton, who was now busy emptying his cap and mopping the velvet.

The water-rat was as well as could be expected, but did not quite like the
new aspect of affairs. He saw that Mr. Sponge was a first-rate horseman,
and also knew that nothing ingratiated one man with another so much as
skill and boldness in the field. It was by that means, indeed, that he had
established himself in Mr. Waffles' good graces--an ingratiation that had
been pretty serviceable to him, both in the way of meat, drink, mounting,
and money. Had Mr. Sponge been, like himself, a needy, penniless
adventurer, Caingey would have tried to have kept him out by some of those
plausible, admonitory hints, that poverty makes men so obnoxious to; but in
the case of a rich, flourishing individual, with such an astonishing stud
as Leather made him out to have, it was clearly Caingey's policy to knock
under and be subservient to Mr. Sponge also. Caingey, we should observe,
was a bold, reckless rider, never seeming to care for his neck, but he was
no match for Mr. Sponge, who had both skill and courage.

Caingey being at length cleansed from his weeds, wiped from his mud, and
made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, was now hoisted on
to the renowned steeple-chase horse again, who had scrambled out of the
brook on the taking-off side, and, after meandering the banks for a certain
distance, had been caught by the bridle in the branch of a willow--Caingey,
we say, being again mounted, Mr. Sponge also, without hindrance from the
resolute brown horse, the first whip put himself a little in advance, while
old Tom followed with the hounds, and the second whip mingled with the now
increasing field, it being generally understood (by the uninitiated, at
least) that hounds have no business to go home so long as any gentleman is
incli