Great was the excitement! Each hunt was determined to take the shine out of the other.
'Twang, twang, twang!' 'Tweet, tweet, tweet!' went his lordship's and Frostyface's horns, as they came bounding over the gorse to the spot, with the eager pack rushing at their horses' heels.

Then as the hounds crossed the line of scent, there was such an outburst of melody in cover, and such gathering of reins and thrusting on of hats outside! The hounds dashed out of cover as if somebody was kicking them.

A man in scarlet was seen flying through the fog, producing the usual hold-hardings.

'Hold hard, sir!' 'God bless you, hold hard, sir!' with inquiries as to 'who the chap was that was going to catch the fox.' 'It's Lumpleg!' exclaimed one of the Flat Hat men.
'No, it's not!' roared a Puffingtonite; 'Lumpleg's here.' 'Then it's Charley Slapp; he's always doing it,' rejoined the first speaker.

'Most jealous man in the world.' 'Is he!' exclaimed Slapp, cantering past at his ease on a thoroughbred grey, as if he could well afford to dispense with a start.
Reader! it was neither Lumpleg nor Slapp, nor any of the Puffington snobs, or Flat Hat swells, or Puffington swells, or Flat Hat snobs.