Many of them now sat hat in hand, mopping, and puffing, and turning their red perspiring faces to the wind.
'Poough,' gasped one, as if he was going to be sick; 'Puff,' went another; 'Oh! but it's 'ot!' exclaimed a third, pulling off his limp neckcloth; 'Wonder if there's any ale hereabouts,' cried a fourth; 'Terrible run!' observed a fifth; 'Ten miles at least,' gasped another.

Meanwhile the hounds went streaming on; and it is wonderful how soon those who don't follow are left hopelessly in the rear.
Of the few that did follow, Mr.Sponge, however, was one.

Nothing daunted by the compliments that had been paid him, he got Hercules well in hand; and the horse dropping again on the bit, resumed his place in front, going as strong and steadily as ever.

Thus he went, throwing the mud in the faces of those behind, regardless of the oaths and imprecations that followed; Sponge knowing full well they would do the same by him if they could.
'All jealousy,' said Sponge, spurring his horse.

'Never saw such a jealous set of dogs in my life.' An accommodating lane soon presented itself, along which they all pounded, with the hounds running parallel through the enclosures on the left; Sponge sending such volleys of pebbles and mud in his rear as made it advisable to keep a good way behind him.