Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 10

'Why, I doesn't exactly live in London, my lord--that's to say, sir--a little way out of it, you know--have a little hindependence of my own, you understand.'

'Hang it, how should I understand anything of the sort--never set eyes on you before,' replied Mr. Waffles.

The half-crowns now began to descend singly in the pocket, keeping up a protracted jingle, like the notes of a lazy, undecided musical snuff-box.

By the time the last had dropped, Mr. Buckram had collected himself sufficiently to resume.

Taking the ash-plant away from his mouth, with which he had been barricading his lips, he observed--

'I know'd that oss when Lord Bullfrog had him,' nodding his head at our old friend as he spoke.

'The deuce you did!' observed Mr. Waffles;' where was that?'

'In Leicestersheer,' replied Mr. Buckram. 'I have a haunt as lives at Mount Sorrel; she has a little hindependence of her own, and I goes down 'casionally to see her--in fact, I believes I'm her _hare_. Well, I was down there just at the beginnin' of the season, the 'ounds met at Kirby Gate--a mile or two to the south, you know, on the Leicester road--it was the fust day of the season, in fact--and there was a great crowd, and I was one; and havin' a heye for an oss, I was struck with this one, you understand, bein' as I thought, a 'ticklar nice 'un. Lord Bullfrog's man was a ridin' of him, and he kept him outside the crowd, showin' off his pints, and pa.s.sin' him backwards and forwards under people's noses, to 'tract the notish of the n.o.bs--pa.r.s.ecutin, what I call--and I see'd Mr.

Sponge struck--I've known Mr. Sponge many years, and a 'ticklar nice gent he is--well, Mr. Sponge pulled hup, and said to the grum, "Who's o' that oss?" "My Lor' Bullfrog's, sir," said the man. "He's a deuced nice 'un,"

observed Mr. Sponge, thinkin', as he was a lord's, he might praise 'im, seein', in all probability, he weren't for sale. "He is _that_," said the grum, patting him on the neck, as though he were special fond on him. "Is my lord out?" asked Mr. Sponge. "No, sir; he's not come down yet," replied the man, "nor do I know when he will come. He's been down at Bath for some time 'sociatin' with the aldermen o' Bristol and has thrown up a vast o'

bad flesh--two stun' sin' last season--and he's afeared this oss won't be able to carry 'im, and so he writ to me to take 'im out to-day, to show 'im." "He'd carry _me_, I think," said Mr. Sponge, making hup his mind on the moment, jist as he makes hup his mind to ride at a fence--not that I think it's a good plan for a gent to show that he's sweet on an oss, for they're sure to make him pay for it. Howsomever, that's nouther here nor there. Well, jist as Mr. Sponge said this, Sir Richard driv' hup, and havin' got his oss, away we trotted to the goss jist below, and the next thing I see'd was Mr. Sponge leadin' the 'ole field on this werry nag.

Well, I heard no more till I got to Melton, for I didn't go to my haunt's at Mount Sorrel that night, and I saw little of the run, for my oss was rather puffy, livin' princ.i.p.ally on chaff, bran mashes, swedes, and soft food; and when I got to Melton, I heard 'ow Mr. Sponge had bought this oss,' Mr. Buckram nodding his head at the horse as he spoke, 'and 'ow that he'd given the matter o' two 'under'd--or I'm not sure it weren't two 'under'd-and-fifty guineas for 'im, and--'

'Well,' interrupted Mr. Waffles, tired of his verbosity, 'and what did they say about the horse?'

'Why,' continued Mr. Buckram, thoughtfully, propping his chin up with his stick, and drawing all the half-crowns up to the top of his pocket again, 'the fust 'spicious thing I heard was Sir Digby Snaffle's grum, Sam, sayin'

to Captain Screwley's bat-man grum, jist afore the George Inn door,--

'"Well, Jack, Tommy's sold the brown oss!"

'"N--O--O--R!" exclaimed Jack, starin' 'is eyes out, as if it were unpossible.

'"He '_as_ though," said Sam.

'"Well, then, I 'ope the gemman's fond o' walkin'," exclaimed Jack, bustin'

out a laughin' and runnin' on.

'This rayther set me a thinkin',' continued Mr. Buckram, dropping a second half-crown, which jinked against the nest-egg one left at the bottom, 'and fearin' that Mr. Sponge had fallen 'mong the Philistines--which I was werry concerned about, for he's a real nice gent, but thoughtless, as many young gents are who 'ave plenty of tin--I made it my business to inquire 'bout this oss; and if he _is_ the oss that I saw in Leicestersheer, and I 'ave little doubt about it (dropping two consecutive half-crowns as he spoke), though I've not seen him out, I--'

'Ah! well, I bought him of Mr. Sponge, who said he got him from Lord Bullfrog,' interrupted Mr. Waffles.

'Ah! then he _is_ the oss, in course,' said Mr. Buckram, with a sort of mournful chuck of the chin; 'he _is_ the oss,' repeated he; 'well, then, he's a dangerous hanimal,' added he, letting slip three half-crowns.

'What does he do?' asked Mr. Waffles.

'Do!' repeated Mr. Buckram, 'DO! he'll do for anybody.'

'Indeed,' responded Mr. Waffles; adding, 'how could Mr. Sponge sell me such a brute?'

'I doesn't mean to say, mind ye,' observed Mr. Buckram, drawing back three half-crowns, as though he had gone that much too far,--'I doesn't mean to say, mind, that he's wot you call a misteched, runaway, rear-backwards-over-hanimal--but I mean to say he's a difficultish oss to ride--himpetuous--and one that, if he got the hupper 'and, would be werry likely to try and keep the hupper 'and--you understand me?' said he, eyeing Mr. Waffles intently, and dropping four half-crowns as he spoke.

'I'm tellin' you nothin' but the truth,' observed Mr. Buckram, after a pause, adding, 'in course it's nothin' to me, only bein' down here on a visit to a friend, and 'earin' that the oss were 'ere, I made bold to look in to see whether it was 'im or no. No offence, I 'opes,' added he, letting go the rest of the silver, and taking the prop from under his chin, with an obeisance as if he was about to be off.

'Oh, no offence at all,' rejoined Mr. Waffles, 'no offence--rather the contrary. Indeed, I'm much obliged to you for telling me what you have done. Just stop half a minute,' added he, thinking he might as well try and get something more out of him. While Mr. Waffles was considering his next question, Mr. Buckram saved him the trouble of thinking by 'leading the gallop' himself.

'I believe 'im to be a _good_ oss, and I believe 'im to be a _bad_ oss,'

observed Mr. Buckram, sententiously. 'I believe that oss, with a bold rider on his back, and well away with the 'ounds, would beat most osses goin', but it's the start that's the difficulty with him; for if, on the other 'and, he don't incline to go, all the spurrin', and quiltin', and leatherin' in the world won't make 'im. It'll be a mercy o' Providence if he don't cut out work for the crowner some day.'

'Hang the brute!' exclaimed Mr. Waffles, in disgust; 'I've a good mind to have his throat cut.'

'Nay,' replied Mr. Buckram, brightening up, and stirring the silver round and round in his pocket like a whirlpool, 'nay,' replied he, 'he's fit for summat better nor that.'

'Not much, I think,' replied Mr. Waffles, pouting with disgust. He now stood silent for a few seconds.

'Well, but what did they mean by hoping Mr. Sponge was fond of walking?' at length asked he.

'Oh, vy,' replied Mr. Buckram, gathering all the money up again, 'I believe it was this 'ere,' beginning to drop them to half-minute time, and talking very slowly; 'the oss, I believe, got the better of Lord Bullfrog one day, somewhere a little on this side of Thrussinton--that, you know, is where Sir 'Arry built his kennels--between Mount Sorrel and Melton in fact--and havin' got his Lordship off, who, I should tell you, is an uncommon fat 'un, he wouldn't let him on again, and he 'ad to lead him the matter of I don't know 'ow many miles'; Mr. Buckram letting go the whole balance of silver in a rush, as if to denote that it was no joke.

'The brute!' observed Mr. Waffles, in disgust, adding, 'Well, as you seem to have a pretty good opinion of him, suppose you buy him; I'll let you have him cheap.'

"Ord bless you--my lord--that's to say, sir!' exclaimed Buckram, shrugging up his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows as high as they would go, 'he'd be of no use to me, none votsomever--shouldn't know what to do with him--never do for 'arness--besides, I 'ave a werry good machiner as it is--at least, he sarves my turn, and that's everything, you know. No, sir, no,' continued he, slowly and thoughtfully, dropping the silver to half-minute time; 'no, sir, no; if I might make free with a gen'leman o'

your helegance,' continued he, after a pause,' I'd say, sell 'im to a post-master or a buss-master, or some sich cattle as those, but I doesn't think I'd put 'im into the 'ands of no gen'leman, that's to say if I were _you_, at least,' added he.

'Well, then, will you speculate on him yourself for the buss-masters?'

asked Mr. Waffles, tired alike of the colloquy and the quadruped.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PORTRAIT OF LORD BULLFROG, FORMERLY OWNER OF 'HERCULES']

'Oh, vy, as to that,' replied Mr. Buckram, with an air of the most perfect indifference, 'vy, as to that--not bein' nouther a post-master nor a buss-master--but 'aving, as I said before, a little hindependence o' my own, vy, I couldn't in course give such a bountiful price as if I could turn 'im to account at once; but if it would be any 'commodation to you,'

added he, working the silver up into full cry, 'I wouldn't mind givin' you the with (worth) of 'im--say, deductin' expenses hup to town, and standin'

at livery afore I finds a customer--expenses hup to town,' continued Mr.

Buckram, muttering to himself in apparent calculation, 'standin' at livery--three-and-sixpence a night, grum, and so on--I wouldn't mind,'

continued he briskly, 'givin' of you twenty pund for 'im--if you'd throw me back a sov.,' continued he, seeing Mr. Waffles' brow didn't contract into the frown he expected at having such a sum offered for his three-hundred-guinea horse.

In the course of an hour, that wonderful invention of modern times,--the Electric Telegraph--conveyed the satisfactory words 'All right' to our friend Mr. Sponge, just as he was sitting down to dinner in a certain sumptuously sanded coffee-room in Conduit Street, who forthwith sealed and posted the following ready-written letter:

'BANTAM HOTEL, BOND STREET.

'SIR,

'I have been greatly surprised and hurt to hear that you have thought fit to impeach my integrity, and insinuate that I had taken you in with the brown horse. Such insinuations touch one in a tender point--one's self-respect. The bargain, I may remind you, was of your own seeking, and I told you at the time I knew nothing of the horse, having only ridden him once, and I also told you where I got him. To show how unjust and unworthy your insinuations have been, I have now to inform you that, having ascertained that Lord Bullfrog knew he was vicious, I insisted on his lordship taking him back, and have only to add that, on my receiving him from you, I will return you your bill.

'I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

'H. SPONGE.

'To W. WAFFLES, Esq., 'Imperial Hotel, Laverick Wells.'

Mr. Waffles was a good deal vexed and puzzled when he got this letter. He had parted with the horse, who was gone no one knew where, and Mr. Waffles felt that he had used a certain freedom of speech in speaking of the transaction. Mr. Sponge having left Laverick Wells, had, perhaps, led him a little astray with his tongue--slandering an absent man being generally thought a pretty safe game; it now seemed Mr. Waffles was all wrong, and might have had his money back if he had not been in such a hurry to part with the horse. Like a good many people, he thought he had best eat up his words, which he did in the following manner:

'IMPERIAL HOTEL, LAVERICK WELLS.

'DEAR MR. SPONGE,