'Here's that nasty Spraggon,' exclaimed he, eyeing Jack dragging his legs along, adding, 'I'll be bound to say he'll never think of wiping his filthy feet if I don't go to meet him.'
So saying, Puffington rushed to the entrance, and crowning himself with a white wide-awake, advanced cheerily to do so.
Jack, who was more used to 'cold shoulder' than cordial reception, squinted and stared with surprise at the unwonted warmth, so different to their last interview, when Jack was fresh out of his clay-hole in the Brick Fields; but not being easily put out of his way, he just took Puff as Puff took him. They talked of Scamperdale, and they talked of Frostyface, and the number of foxes he had killed, the price of corn, and the difference its price made in the keep of hounds and horses. Altogether they were very 'thick.'
'And how's our friend Sponge?' asked Puffington, as the conversation at length began to flag.
'Oh, he's nicely,' replied Jack, adding, 'hasn't he come yet?'
'Not that I've seen,' answered Puffington, adding, 'I thought, perhaps, you might come together.'
'No,' grunted Jack; 'he comes from Jawleyford's, you know; I'm from Woodmansterne.'
'We'll go and see if he's come,' observed Puffington, opening a door in the garden-wall, into which he had manœuvred Jack, communicating with the courtyard of the stable.
'Here are his horses,' observed Puffington, as Mr. Leather rode through the great gates on the opposite side, with the renowned hunters in full marching order.
'Monstrous fine animals they are,' said Jack, squinting intently at them.