'Geete away home with ye, ye brutes; what are you all (hiccup)ing here about? Ah! cut off his tail!' cried he, staggering after a venerable blear-eyed sage, who dropped his stern and took off.
'Be off! Does your mother know you're out?' cried Bob Spangles, out of the window, to old Marksman, who stood wondering what to do.
The old hound took the hint also.
'Now, then, old feller,' cried Sir Harry, staggering up to Mr. Sponge, who still sat on his horse, in mute astonishment at Sir Harry's mode of dealing with his hounds. 'Now, then, old feller,' said he, seizing Mr. Sponge by the hand, 'get rid of your quadruped, and (hiccup) in, and make yourself "o'er all the (hiccups) of life victorious," as Bob Spangles says, when he (hiccups) it neat. This is old (hiccup) Peastraw's, a (hiccup) tenant of mine, and he'll be most (hiccup) to see you.'
'But what must I do with my horse?' asked Mr. Sponge, rubbing some of the dried sweat off the brown's shoulder as he spoke; adding, 'I should like to get him a feed of corn.'
'Give him some ale, and a (hiccup) of sherry in it,' replied Sir Harry; 'it'll do him far more good—make his mane grow,' smoothing the horse's thin, silky mane as he spoke.
'Well, I'll put him up,' replied Mr. Sponge, 'and then come to you,' throwing himself, jockey fashion, off the horse as he spoke.
'That's a (hiccup) feller,' said Sir Harry; adding, 'here's old Pea himself come to see after you.'
So saying, Sir Harry reeled back to his comrades in the house, leaving Mr. Sponge in the care of the farmer.
'This way, sir; this way,' said the burly Mr. Peastraw, leading the way into his farmyard, where a line of hunters stood shivering under a long cart-shed.