CHAPTER XXVII.
THE FINEST RUN THAT EVER WAS SEEN [Illustration] 'Hoo-ray, Jack! Hoo-ray!' exclaimed Lord Scamperdale, bursting into his sanctum where Mr.Spraggon sat in his hunting coat and slippers, spelling away at a second-hand copy of _Bell's Life_ by the light of a melancholy mould candle.

'Hooray, Jack! hooray!' repeated he, waving that proud trophy, a splendid fox's brush, over his grizzly head.
His lordship was the picture of delight.

He had had a tremendous run--the finest run that ever was seen! His hounds had behaved to perfection; his horse--though he had downed him three times--had carried him well, and his lordship stood with his crownless flat hat in his hand, and one coat lap in the pocket of the other--a grinning, exulting, self-satisfied specimen of a happy Englishman.
'Lor! what a sight you are!' observed Jack, turning the light of the candle upon his lordship's dirty person.

'Why, I declare you're an inch thick with mud,' he added, 'mud from head to foot,' he continued, working the light up and down.
'Never mind the mud, you old badger!' roared his lordship, still waving the brush over his head: 'never mind the mud, you old badger; the mud'll come off, or may stay on; but such a run as we've had does not come off every day.' 'Well, I'm glad you have had a run,' replied Jack.

'I'm glad you have had a run,' adding, 'I was afraid at one time that your day's sport was spoiled.' 'Well, do you know,' replied his lordship, 'when I saw that unrighteous snob, I was near sick.