three o'clock
Caingey , we should observe , was a bold , reckless rider , never seeming to care for his neck , but he was no match for Mr. Sponge , who had both skill and courage . Caingey being at length cleansed from his weeds , wiped from his mud , and made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances , was now hoisted on to the renowned steeple-chase horse again , who had scrambled out of the brook on the taking-off side , and , after meandering the banks for a certain distance , had been caught by the bridle in the branch of a willow -- Caingey , we say , being again mounted , Mr. Sponge also , without hindrance from the resolute brown horse , the first whip put himself a little in advance , while old Tom followed with the hounds , and the second whip mingled with the now increasing field , it being generally understood -LRB- by the uninitiated , at least -RRB- that hounds have no business to go home so long as any gentleman is inclined for a scurrey , no matter whether he has joined early or late . Mr. Waffles , on the contrary , was very easily satisfied , and never took the shine off a run with a kill by risking a subsequent defeat . Old Tom , though keen when others were keen , was not indifferent to his comforts , and soon came into the way of thinking that it was just as well to get home to his mutton-chops at two or three o'clock , as to be groping his way about bottomless bye-roads on dark winter nights . As he retraced his steps homeward , and overtook the scattered field of the morning , his talent for invention , or rather stretching , was again called into requisition . ` What have you done with him , Tom ? ' asked Major Bouncer , eagerly bringing his sturdy collar-marked cob alongside of our huntsman .