Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 52

'He does,' affirmed Sponge, amidst the laughter of the party.

Pacey didn't know how to take this; whether as a 'sell' or a compliment to his own wit. He sat for a few seconds grinning and staring like a fool; at last after gulping down a b.u.mper of claret, he again fixed his unmeaning green eyes upon Sponge, and exclaimed:

'I'll challenge your horse, Mr. Sponge.'

A burst of applause followed the announcement; for it was evident that amus.e.m.e.nt was in store.

'You'll w-h-a-w-t?' replied Sponge, staring, and pretending ignorance.

'I'll challenge your horse,' repeated Pacey with confidence, and in a tone that stopped the lingering murmur of conversation, and fixed the attention of the company on himself.

'I don't understand you,' replied Sponge, pretending astonishment.

'Lor bless us! why, where have you lived all your life?' asked Pacey.

'Oh, partly in one place, and partly in another,' was the answer.

'I should think so,' replied Pacey, with a look of compa.s.sion, adding, in an undertone, 'a good deal with your mother, I should think.'

'If you could get that horse at a moderate figure,' whispered Jack to his neighbour, and squinting his eyes inside out as he spoke, 'he's well worth having.'

'The beggar won't sell him,' muttered Pacey, who was fonder of talking about buying horses than of buying them.

'Oh yes, he will,' replied Jack; 'he didn't understand what you meant. Mr.

Sponge,' said he, addressing himself slowly and distinctly up the table to our hero--'Mr. Sponge, my friend Mr. Pacey here challenges your chestnut.'

Sponge still stared in well-feigned astonishment.

'It's a custom we have in this country,' continued Jack, looking, as he thought, at Sponge, but, in reality, squinting most frightfully at the sideboard.

'Do you mean he wants to buy him?' asked Sponge.

'Yes,' replied Jack confidently.

'No, I don't,' whispered Pacey, giving Jack a kick under the table. Pacey had not yet drunk sufficient wine to be rash.

'Yes, yes,' replied Jack tartly, 'you do,' adding, in an undertone, 'leave it to me, man, and I'll let you in for a good thing. Yes, Mr. Sponge,'

continued he, addressing himself to our hero, 'Mr. Pacey fancies the chestnut and challenges him.'

'Why doesn't he ask the price?' replied Sponge, who was always ready for a deal.

'Ah, the price must be left to a third party,' said Jack.' The principle of the thing is this,' continued he, enlisting the aid of his fingers to ill.u.s.trate his position: 'Mr. Pacey, here,' said he, applying the forefinger of his right hand to the thumb of the left, looking earnestly at Sponge, but in reality squinting up at the chandelier--'Mr. Pacey here challenges your horse Multum-in-somethin'--I forget what you said you call him--but the nag I rode to-day. Well, then,' continued Jack, 'you'

(demonstrating Sponge by pressing his two forefingers together, and holding them erect) 'accept the challenge, but can challenge anything Mr. Pacey has--a horse, dog, gun--anything; and, having fixed on somethin' then a third party' (who Jack represented by c.o.c.king up his thumb), 'any one you like to name, makes the award. Well, having agreed upon that party' (Jack still c.o.c.king up the thumb to represent the arbitrator), 'he says, "Give me money." The two then put, say half a crown or five shillin's each, into his hand, to which the arbitrator adds the same sum for himself. That being done, the arbitrator says, "Hands in pockets, gen'lemen."' (Jack diving his right hand up to the hilt in his own.) 'If this be an award, Mr. Pacey's horse gives Mr. Sponge's horse so much--draw.' (Jack suiting the action to the word, and laying his fist on the table.) 'If each person's hand contains money, it is an award--it is a deal; and the arbitrator gets the half-crowns, or whatever it is, for his trouble; so that, in course, he has a direct interest in makin' such an award as will lead to a deal. _Now_ do you understand?' continued Jack, addressing himself earnestly to Sponge.

'I think I do,' replied Sponge who had been at the game pretty often.

'Well, then,' continued Jack, reverting to his original position, 'my friend, Mr. Pacey here, challenges your chestnut.'

'No, never mind,' muttered Pacey peevishly, in an undertone, with a frown on his face, giving Jack a dig in the ribs with his elbow. 'Never mind,'

repeated he; '_I_ don't care about it--_I_ don't want the horse.'

'But _I_ do,' growled Jack, adding, in an undertone also, as he stooped for his napkin, 'don't spoil sport, man; he's as good a horse as ever stepped; and if you'll challenge him, I'll stand between you and danger.'

'But he may challenge something I don't want to part with,' observed Pacey.

'Then you've nothin' to do,' replied Jack, 'but bring up your hand without any money in it.'

'Ah! I forgot,' replied Pacey, who did not like not to appear what he called 'fly.' 'Well, then, I challenge your chestnut!' exclaimed he, perking up, and shouting up the table to Sponge.

'Good!' replied our friend. 'I challenge your watch and chain, then,'

looking at Pacey's chain-daubed vest.

'Name _me_ arbitrator,' muttered Jack, as he again stooped for his napkin.

'Who shall handicap us? Captain Guano, Mr. Lumpleg, or who?' asked Sponge.

'Suppose we say Spraggon?--he says he rode the horse to-day,' replied Pacey.

'Quite agreeable,' said Sponge.

'Now, Jack!' 'Now, Spraggon!' 'Now, old Solomon!' 'Now, Doctor Wiseman,'

resounded from different parts of the table.

Jack looked solemn; and diving both hands into his breeches' pockets, stuck out his legs extensively before him.

'Give me money,' said he pompously. They each handed him half a crown; and Jack added a third for himself. 'Mr. Pacey challenges Mr. Sponge's chestnut horse, and Mr. Sponge challenges Mr. Pacey's gold watch,' observed Jack sententiously.

'Come, old Slowman, go on!' exclaimed Guano, adding, 'have you got no further than that?'

'Hurry no man's cattle,' replied Jack tartly, adding, 'you may keep a donkey yourself some day.'

'Mr. Pacey challenges Mr. Sponge's chestnut horse,' repeated Jack. 'How old is the chestnut, Mr. Sponge?' added he, addressing himself to our friend.

'Upon my word I hardly know,' replied Sponge, 'he's past mark of mouth; but I think a hunter's age has very little to do with his worth.'

'Who-y, that depends,' rejoined Jack, blowing out his cheeks, and looking as pompous as possible--'that depends a good deal upon how he's been used in his youth.'

'He's about nine, I should say,' observed Sponge, pretending to have been calculating, though, in reality, he knew nothing whatever about the horse's age. 'Say nine, or rising ten, and never did a day's work till he was six.'

'Indeed!' said Jack, with an important bow, adding, 'being easy with them at the beginnin' puts on a deal to the end. Perfect hunter, I s'pose?'

'Why, you can judge of that yourself,' replied Sponge.

'Perfect hunter, _I_ should say,' rejoined Jack, 'and steady at his fences--don't know that I ever rode a better fencer. Well,' continued he, having apparently pondered all that over in his mind, 'I must trouble you to let me look at your ticker,' said he, turning short round on his neighbour.

'There,' said Mr. Pacey, producing a fine flash watch from his waistcoat-pocket, and holding it to Jack.

'The chain's included in the challenge, mind,' observed Sponge.