Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 78

Jog was so rejoiced that he could hardly sit on his chair.

Mrs. Jog, when she heard it, felt that Gustavus James's chance of independence was gone; for well she knew that Jog would never let Sponge come back to the Bower.

We need scarcely say that Jog was up betimes in the morning, most anxious to forward Mr. Sponge's departure. He offered to allow Bartholomew to convey him and his 'traps' in the phaeton--an offer that Mr. Sponge availed himself of as far as his 'traps' were concerned, though he preferred cantering over on his piebald to trailing along in Jog's jingling chay. So matters were arranged, and Mr. Sponge forthwith proceeded to put his brown boots, his substantial cords, his superfine tights, his cuttey scarlet, his dress blue saxony, his clean linen, his heavy spurs, and though last, not least in importance, his now backless _Mogg_, into his solid leather portmanteau, sweeping the surplus of his wardrobe into a capacious carpet-bag. While the guest was thus busy upstairs, the host wandered about restlessly, now stirring up this person, now hurrying that, in the full enjoyment of the much-coveted departure. His pleasure was, perhaps, rather damped by a running commentary he overheard through the lattice-window of the stable, from Leather, as he stripped his horses and tried to roll up their clothing in a moderate compa.s.s.

"Ord rot your great carca.s.s!' exclaimed he, giving the roll a hearty kick in its bulging-out stomach, on finding that he had not got it as small as he wanted. "Ord rot your great carca.s.s,' repeated he, scratching his head and eyeing it as it lay; 'this is all the consequence of your nasty brewers' hap.r.o.n weshins--blowin' of one out, like a bladder!' and, thereupon, he placed his hand on his stomach to feel how his own was.

'Never see'd sich a house, or sich an awful mean man!' continued he, stooping and pommelling the package with his fists. It was of no use, he could not get it as small as he wished--'Must have my jacket out on you, I do believe,' added he, seeing where the impediment was; 'sticks in your gizzard just like a lump of old Puff-and-blow's puddin"; and then he thrust his hand into the folds of the clothing, and pulled out the greasy garment. 'Now,' said he, stooping again, 'I think we may manish ye'; and he took the roll in his arms and hoisted it on to Hercules, whom he meant to make the led horse, observing aloud, as he adjusted it on the saddle, and whacked it well with his hands to make it lie right, 'I wish it was old Jog--wouldn't I sarve him out!' He then turned his horses round in their stalls, tucked his greasy jacket under the flap of the saddle-bags, took his ash-stick from the crook, and led them out of the capacious door. Jog looked at him with mingled feelings of disgust and delight. Leather just gave his old hat flipe a rap with his forefinger as he pa.s.sed with the horses--a salute that Jog did not condescend to return.

Having eyed the receding horses with great satisfaction, Jog re-entered the house by the kitchens, to have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Sponge off. He found the portmanteau and carpet-bag standing in the pa.s.sage, and just at the moment the sound of the phaeton wheels fell on his ear, as Bartholomew drove round from the coach-house to the door. Mr. Sponge was already in the parlour, making his adieus to Mrs. Jog and the children, who were all a.s.sembled for the purpose.

'What, are you goin'?' (puff) asked Jog, with an air of surprise.

'Yes,' replied Mr. Sponge; adding, as he tendered his hand, 'the best friends must part, you know.'

'Well (puff), but you'd better have your (wheeze) horse round,' observed Jog, anxious to avoid any overture for a return.

'Thankee,' replied Mr. Sponge, making a parting bow; 'I'll get him at the stable.'

'I'll go with you,' said Jog, leading the way.

Leather had saddled, and bridled, and turned him round in the stall, with one of Mr. Jog's blanket-rugs on, which Mr. Sponge just swept over his tail into the manger, and led the horse out.

'Adieu!' said he, offering his hand to his host.

'Good-bye!--good (puff) sport to you,' said Jog, shaking it heartily.

Mr. Sponge then mounted his hack, and c.o.c.king out his toe, rode off at a canter.

At the same moment, Bartholomew drove away from the front door; and Jog, having stood watching the phaeton over the rise of Pennypound Hill, sc.r.a.ped his feet, re-entered his house, and rubbing them heartily on the mat as he closed the sash-door, observed aloud to himself, with a jerk of his head:

'Well, now, that's the most (puff) impittent feller I ever saw in my life!

Catch me (gasp) G.o.dpapa-hunting again.'

CHAPTER LIX

THE ADJOURNED DEBATE

The fatal invitation to Mr. Sponge having been sent, the question that now occupied the minds of the a.s.sembled sharpers at Nonsuch House, was, whether he was a pigeon or one of themselves. That point occupied their very deep and serious consideration. If he was a 'pigeon,' they could clearly accommodate him, but if, on the other hand, he was one of themselves, it was painfully apparent that there were far too many of them there already.

Of course, the subject was not discussed in full and open conclave--they were all highly honourable men in the gross--and it was only in the small and secret groups of those accustomed to hunt together and unburden their minds, that the real truth was elicited.

'What an a.s.s Sir Harry is, to ask this Mr. Sponge,' observed Captain Quod to Captain Seedeybuck, as (cigar in mouth) they paced backwards and forwards under the flagged veranda on the west side of the house, on the morning that Sir Harry had announced his intention of asking him.

'Confounded a.s.s,' a.s.sented Seedeybuck, from between the whiffs of his cigar.

'Dash it! one would think he had more money than he knew what to do with,'

observed the first speaker, 'instead of not knowing where to lay hands on a halfpenny.'

'Soon be who-hoop,' here observed Quod, with a shake of the head.

'Fear so,' replied Seedeybuck. 'Have you heard anything fresh?'

'Nothing particular. The County Court bailiff was here with some summonses, which, of course, he put in the fire.'

'Ah! that's what he always does. He got tired of papering the smoking-room with them,' replied Seedeybuck.

'Well, it's a pity,' observed Quod, spitting as he spoke; 'but what can you expect, eaten up as he is by such a set of rubbish.'

'Shockin',' replied Seedeybuck, thinking how long he and his friend might have fattened there together.

'Do you know anything of this Mr. Sponge?' asked Captain Quod, after a pause.

'Nothin',' replied Seedeybuck, 'except what we saw of him here; but I'm sure he won't do.'

'Well, I think not either,' replied Quod; 'I didn't like his looks--he seems quite one of the free-and-easy sort.'

'Quite,' observed Seedeybuck, determined to make a set against him, instead of cultivating his acquaintance.

'This Mr. Sponge won't be any great addition to our party, I think,'

muttered Captain Bouncey to Captain Cut.i.tfat, as they stood within the bay of the library window, in apparent contemplation of the cows, but in reality conning the Sponge matter over in their minds.

'I think not,' replied Captain Cut.i.tfat, with an emphasis.

'Wonder what made Sir Harry ask him!' whispered Bouncey, adding, aloud, for the bystanders to hear, 'That's a fine cow, isn't it?'

'Very,' replied Cut.i.tfat, in the same key, adding, in a whisper, with a shrug of his shoulders, 'Wonder what made him ask half the people that are here!'

'The black and white one isn't a bad un,' observed Bouncey, nodding his head towards the cows, adding in an undertone, 'Most of them asked themselves, I should think.'

'Admiring the cows. Captain Bouncey?' asked the beautiful and tolerably virtuous Miss Glitters, of the Astley's Royal Amphitheatre, who had come down to spend a few days with her old friend, Lady Scattercash. 'Admiring the cows, Captain Bouncey?' asked she, sidling her elegant figure between our friends in the bay.

'We were just saying how nice it would be to have two or three pretty girls, and a sillabub, under those cedars,' replied Captain Bouncey.

'Oh, charming!' exclaimed Miss Glitters, her dark eyes sparkling as she spoke. 'Harriet!' exclaimed she, addressing herself to a young lady, who called herself Howard, but whose real name was Brown--Jane Brown--'Harriet!' exclaimed she, 'Captain Bouncey is going to give a _fete champetre_ under those lovely cedars.'

'Oh, how nice!' exclaimed Harriet, clapping her hands in ecstasies--theatrical ecstasies at least.

'It must be Sir Harry,' replied the billiard-table man, not fancying being 'let in' for anything.

'Oh! Sir Harry will let us have anything we like, I'm sure,' rejoined Miss Glitters.

'What is it (hiccup)?' asked Sir Harry, who, hearing his name, now joined the party.

'Oh, we want you to give us a dance under those charming cedars,' replied the lady, looking lovingly at him.