Indeed, a stranger would have taken him for the master, a delusion that was
heightened by his riding with a formidable-looking sherry-case, in the
shape of a horn, at his saddle. Save when engaged in sucking this, his
tongue was never at fault. It was jabber, jabber, jabber; chatter, chatter,
chatter; prattle, prattle, prattle; occasionally about something, oftener
about nothing, but in cover or out, stiff country or open, trotting or
galloping, wet day or dry, good scenting day or bad. Waffles' clapper never
was at rest. Like all noisy chaps, too, he could not bear any one to make a
noise but himself. In furtherance of this, he called in the aid of his
Oxfordshire rhetoric. He would halloo _at_ people, designating them by some
peculiarity that he thought he could wriggle out of, if necessary, instead
of attacking them by name. Thus, if a man spoke, or placed himself where
Waffles thought he ought not to be (that is to say, anywhere but where
Waffles was himself), he would exclaim, 'Pray, sir, hold your tongue!--you,
sir!--no, sir, not you--the man that speaks as if he had a brush in his
throat!'--or, '_Do_ come away, sir!--you, sir!--the man in the
mushroom-looking hat!'--or, 'that gentleman in the parsimonious boots!'
looking at some one with very narrow tops.

[Illustration: MR. WAFFLES, THE PRESENT MASTER OF THE LAVERICK WELLS
HOUNDS]

Still, he was a rattling, good-natured, harum-scarum fellow; and
masterships of hounds, memberships of Parliament--all expensive
unmoney-making offices,--being things that most men are anxious to foist
upon their friends, Mr. Waffles' big talk and interference in the field
procured him the honour of the first refusal. Not that he was the man to
refuse, for he jumped at the offer, and, as he would be of age before the
season came round, and would have got all his money out of Chancery, he