O]

Though our friend was a good deal shaken by the fall, the injury to his
body was trifling compared to that done to his mind. Being kicked off a
horse was an indignity he had never calculated upon. Moreover, it was done
in such a masterly manner as clearly showed it could be repeated at
pleasure. In addition to which everybody laughs at a man that is kicked
off. All these considerations rushed to his mind, and made him determine
not to brook the mirth of the guests as well as the servants.

Accordingly he borrowed a hat and started off home, and seeking his
guardian, Major Screw, confided to him the position of affairs. The major,
who was a man of the world, forthwith commenced a negotiation with Mr.
Sponge, who, after a good deal of haggling, and not until the horse had
shot the major over his head, too, at length, as a great favour, consented
to take fifty pounds to rescind the bargain, accompanying his kindness by
telling the major to advise his ward never to dabble in horseflesh after
dinner; a piece of advice that we also very respectfully tender to our
juvenile readers.

And Sponge shortly after sent Spraggon a five pound note as his share of
the transaction.

CHAPTER XLIII

ANOTHER SICK HOST

[Illustration: letter W]

When Mr. Puffington read Messrs. Sponge and Spraggon's account of the run
with his hounds, in the Swillingford paper, he was perfectly horrified;
words cannot describe the disgust that he felt. It came upon him quite by
surprise, for he expected to be immortalized in some paper or work of
general circulation, in which the Lords Loosefish, Sir Toms, and Sir Harrys
of former days might recognize the spirited doings of their early friend.
He wanted the superiority of his establishment, the excellence of his
horses, the stoutness of his hounds, and the polish of his field,
proclaimed, with perhaps a quiet cut at the Flat-Hat gentry; instead of
which he had a mixed medley sort of a mess, whose humdrum monotony was only
relieved by the absurdities and errors with which it was crammed. At first,
Mr. Puffington could not make out what it meant, whether it was a hoax for
the purpose of turning run-writing into ridicule, or it had suffered
mutilation at the hands of the printer. Calling a good scent an exquisite
perfume looked suspicious of a hoax, but then seasonal fox for seasoned
fox, scorning to cry for scoring to cry, bay fox for bag fox, grunting for
hunting, thrashing for trashing, r