'Not very polite to a stranger,' observed Mr. Sponge.
'No, it isn't,' replied Mr. Puffington, 'no, it isn't; far from it indeed—far from it; but, low be it spoken,' added he, 'his lordship is only a roughish sort of customer.'
'So he is,' replied Mr. Sponge, who thought it fine to abuse a nobleman.
'The fact is,' said Mr. Puffington, 'these Flat Hat chaps are all snobs. They think there are no such fine fellows as themselves under the sun; and if ever a stranger looks near them, they make a point of being as rude and disagreeable to him as they possibly can. This is what they call keeping the hunt select.'
'Indeed,' observed Mr. Sponge, recollecting how they had complimented him, adding, 'they seem a queer set.'
'There's a fellow they call "Jack,"' observed Mr. Puffington, 'who acts as a sort of bulldog to his lordship, and worries whoever his lordship sets him upon. He got into a clay-hole a little farther back, and a precious splashing he was making, along with the chaplain, old Blossomnose.'
'Ah, I saw him,' observed Mr. Sponge.
'You should come and see my hounds,' observed Mr. Puffington.
'What are they?' asked Sponge.
'The Hanby,' replied Mr. Puffington.