Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 30

'Old Blossomnose corked half a dozen in succession one night,' replied Jack.

(He had corked three, but Jawleyford re-corked them, and Spigot was now reproducing them to our friends.)

Although they had now got the ice broken, and entered into something like a conversation, it nevertheless went on very slowly, and they seemed to weigh each word before it was uttered. Jack, too, had time to run his peculiar situation through his mind, and ponder on his mission from Lord Scamperdale--on his lordship's detestation of Mr. Sponge, his anxiety to get rid of him, his promised corner in his will, and his lordship's hint about buying Sponge's horses if he could not get rid of him in any other way.

Sponge, on his part, was thinking if there was any possibility of turning Jack to account.

It may seem strange to the uninitiated that there should be prospect of gain to a middle-man in the matter of a horse-deal, save in the legitimate trade of auctioneers and commission stable-keepers; but we are sorry to say we have known men calling themselves gentlemen, who have not thought it derogatory to accept a 'trifle' for their good offices in the cause. 'I can buy cheaper than you,' they say, 'and we may as well divide the trifle between us.'

That was Mr. Spraggon's principle, only that the word 'trifle' inadequately conveys his opinion on the point; Jack's notion being that a man was ent.i.tled to 5_l._ per cent. as of right, and as much more as he could get.

It was not often that Jack got a 'bite' at my lord, which, perhaps, made him think it the more inc.u.mbent on him not to miss an opportunity. Having been told, of course he knew exactly the style of man he had to deal with in Mr. Sponge--a style of men of whom there is never any difficulty in asking if they will sell their horses, price being the only consideration.

They are, indeed, a sort of unlicensed horse-dealers, from whose presence few hunts are wholly free. Mr. Spraggon thought if he could get Sponge to make it worth his while to get my lord to buy his horses, the--whatever he might get--would come in very comfortably to pay his Christmas bills.

By the time the bottle drew to a close, our friends were rather better friends, and seemed more inclined to fraternize. Jack had the advantage of Sponge, for he could stare, or rather squint, at him without Sponge knowing it. The pint of wine apiece--at least, as near a pint apiece as Spigot could afford to let them have--somewhat strung Jack's nerves as well as his eyes, and he began to show more of the pupils and less of the whites than he did. He buzzed the bottle with such a hearty good will as settled the fate of another, which Sponge rang for as a matter of course. There was but the rejected one, which, however. Spigot put into a different decanter, and brought in with such an air as precluded either of them saying a word in disparagement of it.

'Where are the hounds next week?' asked Sponge, sipping away at it.

'Monday, Larkhall Hill; Tuesday, the cross-roads by Dallington Burn; Thursday, the Toll-bar at Whitburrow Green; Sat.u.r.day, the kennels,' replied Jack.

'Good places?' asked Sponge.

'Monday's good,' replied Jack; 'draw Thorney Gorse--sure find; second draw, Barnlow Woods, and home by Loxley, Padmore, and so on.'

'What sort of a place is Tuesday?'

'Tuesday?' repeated Jack. 'Tuesday! Oh, that's the cross-roads. Capital place, unless the fox takes to Rumborrow Craigs, or gets into Seedywood Forest, when there's an end of it--at least, an end of everything except pulling one's horse's legs off in the stiff clayey rides. It's a long way from here, though,' observed Jack.

'How far?' asked Sponge.

'Good twenty miles,' replied Jack. 'It's sixteen from us; it'll be a good deal more from here.'

'His lordship will lay out overnight, then?' observed Sponge.

'Not he,' replied Jack. 'Takes better care of his sixpences than that. Up in the dark, breakfast by candlelight, grope our ways to the stable, and blunder along the deep lanes, and through all the by-roads in the country--get there somehow or another.'

'Keen hand!' observed Sponge.

'Mad!' replied Jack.

They then paid their mutual respects to the port.

'He hunts there on Tuesdays,' observed Jack, setting down his gla.s.s, 'so that he may have all Wednesday to get home in, and be sure of appearing on Thursday. There's no saying where he may finish with a cross-roads' meet.'

By the time the worthies had finished the bottle, they had got a certain way into each other's confidence. The hint Lord Scamperdale had given about buying Sponge's horses still occupied Jack's mind; and the more he considered the subject, and the worth of a corner in his lordship's will, the more sensible he became of the truth of the old adage, that 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' 'My lord,' thought Jack, 'promises fair, but it is _but_ a chance, and a remote one. He may live many years--as long, perhaps longer, than me. Indeed, he puts me on horses that are anything but calculated to promote longevity. Then he may marry a wife who may eject me, as some wives do eject their husbands' agreeable friends; or he may change his mind, and leave me nothing after all.'

All things considered, Jack came to the conclusion that he should not be doing himself justice if he did not take advantage of such fair opportunities as chance placed in his way, and therefore he thought he might as well be picking up a penny during his lordship's life, as be waiting for a contingency that might never occur. Mr. Jawleyford's indisposition preventing Jack making the announcement he was sent to do, made it inc.u.mbent on him, as he argued, to see what could be done with the alternative his lordship had proposed--namely, buying Sponge's horses. At least. Jack salved his conscience over with the old plea of duty; and had come to that conclusion as he again helped himself to the last gla.s.s in the bottle.

'Would you like a little claret?' asked Sponge, with all the hospitality of a host.

'No, hang your claret!' replied Jack.

'A little brandy, perhaps?' suggested Sponge.

'I shouldn't mind a gla.s.s of brandy,' replied Jack, 'by way of a nightcap.'

Spigot, at this moment entering to announce tea and coffee, was interrupted in his oration by Sponge demanding some brandy.

'Sorry,' replied Spigot, pretending to be quite taken by surprise, 'very sorry, sir--but, sir--master, sir--bed, sir--disturb him, sir.'

'Oh, dash it, never mind that!' exclaimed Jack; 'tell him Mr.

Sprag--Sprag--Spraggon' (the bottle of port beginning to make Jack rather inarticulate)--'tell him Mr. Spraggon wants a little.'

'Dursn't disturb him, sir,' responded Spigot, with a shake of his head; 'much as my place, sir, is worth, sir.'

'Haven't you a little drop in your pantry, think you?' asked Sponge.

'The _cook_ perhaps has,' replied Mr. Spigot, as if it was quite out of his line.

'Well, go and ask her,' said Sponge; 'and bring some hot water and things, the same as we had last night, you know.'

Mr. Spigot retired, and presently returned, bearing a tray with three-quarters of a bottle of brandy, which he impressed upon their minds was the 'cook's _own_.'

'I dare say,' hiccuped Jack, holding the bottle up to the light.

'Hope she wasn't using it herself,' observed Sponge.

'Tell her we'll (hiccup) her health,' hiccuped Jack, pouring a liberal potation into his tumbler.

'That'll be all you'll _do_, I dare say,' muttered Spigot to himself, as he sauntered back to his pantry.

'Does Jaw stand smoking?' asked Jack, as Spigot disappeared.

'Oh, I should think so,' replied Sponge; 'a friend like you, I'm sure, would be welcome'--Sponge thinking to indulge in a cigar, and lay the blame on Jack.

'Well, if you think so,' said Jack, pulling out his cigar-case, or rather his lordship's, and staggering to the chimney-piece for a match, though there was a candle at his elbow, 'I'll have a pipe.'

'So'll I,' said Sponge, 'if you'll give me a cigar.' 'Much yours as mine,'

replied Jack, handing him his lordship's richly embroidered case with coronets and ciphers on either side, the gift of one of the many would-be Lady Scamperdales.

'Want a light!' hiccuped Jack, who had now got a glow-worm end to his.

'Thanks,' said Sponge, availing himself of the friendly overture.

Our friends now whiffed and puffed away together--whiffing and puffing where whiffing and puffing had never been known before. The brandy began to disappear pretty quickly; it was better than the wine.

'That's a n--n--nice--ish horse of yours,' stammered Jack, as he mixed himself a second tumbler.