Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

by Robert Smith Surtees

''Ord dim him,' said he, turning up the fox's grim head with his foot, 'but Mr. Bragg's an awkward customer for gen'lemen of your description.'

'You hunted him well!' exclaimed Charley Slapp, who was trumpeter general of the establishment.

'Oh, sir,' replied Bragg, with a smirk and a condescending bow, 'if Richard Bragg can't kill foxes, I don't know who can.'

Just then 'Puffington and Co.' hove in sight up the valley, their faces beaming with delight as the tableau before them told the tale. They hastened to the spot.

'How many brace is that?' asked Puffington, with the most matter-of-course air, as he trotted up, and reined in his horse outside the circle.

'Seventeen brace, your grace, I mean to say my lord, that's to say sur,' replied Bragg, with a strong emphasis on the sur, as if to say, 'I'm not used to you snobs of commoners.'

'Seventeen brace!' sneered Jack Spraggon to Sponge, adding, in a whisper, 'More like seven foxes.'

'And how many run to ground?' asked Puffington, alighting.

'Four brace,' replied Bragg, stooping to cut off the brush.

We were wrong in saying that Bragg only allowed Puff the privilege of nodding his head to say when he might throw off. He let him lead the 'lie gallop' in the kill department.