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.
Mr.Puffington then presented Mr.Sponge with the brush, and the usual solemnities being observed, the sherry flasks were produced and drained, the biscuits munched, and, amidst the smoke of cigars, the ring broke up in great good-will..