Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 81

of 'me Oncle Gilroy.'

'Well, dash my b.u.t.tons!' groaned Sponge, as the discordant noise shot through his aching head, 'but this is the worst spec I ever made in my life. Fed on pork, fluted deaf, bit with bugs, and robbed at cards--fairly, downrightly robbed. Never was a more reg'ler plant put on a man. Thank goodness, however, I haven't paid him--never will, either. Such a confounded, disreputable scoundrel deserves to be punished--big, bad, blackguard-looking fellow! How the deuce I could ever be taken in by such a fellow! Believe he's nothing but a great poaching blackleg. Hasn't the faintest outlines of a gentleman about him--not the slightest particle--not the remotest glimmerin'.'

These and similar reflections were interrupted by a great thump against the thin lath-and-plaster wall that separated their rooms, or rather closets, accompanied by an exclamation of:

'HALLOO, OLD BOY! HOW GOES IT?'--an inquiry to which our friend deigned no answer.

"Ord rot ye! you're awake,' muttered Facey to himself, well knowing that no one could sleep after such a 'Jim-Crow-ing' and 'Swiss-boy-ing' as he had given him. He therefore resumed his battery, thumping as though he would knock the part.i.tion in.

'HALLOO!' at last exclaimed Mr. Sponge, 'who's there?'

'Well, old Sivin-Pund-Ten, how goes it?' asked Facey, in a tone of the keenest irony.

'You be ----!' growled Mr. Sponge, in disgust.

'Breakfast in half an hour!' resumed Facey. 'Pigs'-puddin's and sarsingers--all 'ot--pipin' 'ot!' continued our host.

'Wish you were pipin' 'ot,' growled Mr. Sponge, as he jerked himself out of his little berth.

Though Facey pumped him pretty hard during this second pig repast, he could make nothing out of Sponge with regard to his movements--our friend parrying all his inquiries with his _Mogg_, and a.s.surances that he could amuse himself. In vain Facey represented that his Oncle Gilroy would be expecting them; that Mr. Hobler was ready for him to ride over on; Sponge wasn't inclined to shoot, but begged Facey wouldn't stay at home on his account. The fact was, Sponge meditated a bolt, and was in close confab with Leather, in the Rose and Crown stables, arranging matters, when the sound of his name in the yard caused him to look out, when--oh, welcome sight!--a Puddingpote Bower messenger put Sir Harry's note in his hand, which had at length arrived at Jog's through their very miscellaneous transit, called a post. Sponge, in the joy of his heart, actually gave the lad a shilling! He now felt like a new man. He didn't care a rap for Facey, and, ordering Leather to give him the hack and follow with the hunters, he presently cantered out of town as sprucely as if all was on the square.

When, however, Facey found how matters stood, he determined to stop Sponge's things, which Leather resisted; and, Facey showing fight, Leather b.u.t.ted him with his head, sending him backwards downstairs and putting his shoulder out. Leather than marched off with the kit, amid the honours of war.

CHAPTER LXI

NONSUCH HOUSE AGAIN

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'MR. SPONGE, MY LADY']

The gallant inmates of Nonsuch House had resolved themselves into a committee of speculation, as to whether Mr. Sponge was coming or not; indeed, they had been betting upon it, the odds at first being a hundred to one that he came, though they had fallen a point or two on the arrival of the post without an answer.

'Well, I say Mr. What-d'ye-call-him--Sponge--doesn't come!' exclaimed Captain Seedeybuck, as he lay full length, with his s.h.a.ggy greasy head on the fine rose-coloured satin sofa, and his legs c.o.c.ked over the cushion.

'Why not?' asked Miss Glitters, who was beguiling the twilight half-hour before candles with knitting.

'Don't know,' replied Seedeybuck, twirling his moustache, 'don't know--have a presentiment he won't.'

'Sure to come!' exclaimed Captain Bouncey, knocking the ashes off his cigar on to the fine Tournay carpet.

'I'll lay ten to one--ten fifties to one--he does,--a thousand to ten if you like.' If all the purses in the house had been clubbed together, we don't believe they would have raised fifty pounds.

'What sort of a looking man is he?' asked Miss Glitters, now counting her loops.

'Oh--whoy--ha--hem--haw--he's just an ordinary sort of lookin' man--nothin'

'tickler any way,' drawled Captain Seedeybuck, now wetting and twirling his moustache.

'Two legs, a head, a back, and so on, I presume,' observed the lady.

'Just so,' a.s.sented Captain Seedeybuck.

'He's a horsey-lookin' sort o' man, I should say,' observed Captain Bouncey, 'walks as if he ought to be ridin'--wears vinegar tops.'

'Hate vinegar tops,' growled Seedeybuck.

Just then, in came Lady Scattercash, attended by Mr. Orlando Bugles, the ladies' attractions having caused that distinguished performer to forfeit his engagement at the Surrey Theatre. Captain Cut.i.tfat, Bob Spangles, and Sir Harry quickly followed, and the Sponge question was presently renewed.

'Who says old brown boots comes?' exclaimed Seedeybuck from the sofa.

'Who's that with his nasty n.o.b on my fine satin sofa?' asked the lady.

'Bob Spangles,' replied Seedeybuck.

'Nothing of the sort,' rejoined the lady; 'and I'll trouble you to get off.'

'Can't--I've got a bone in my leg,' rejoined the captain.

'I'll soon make you,' replied her ladyship, seizing the squab, and pulling it on to the floor.

As the captain was scrambling up, in came Peter--one of the wageless footmen--with candles, which having distributed equitably about the room, he approached Lady Scattercash, and asked, in an independent sort of way, what room Mr. Soapsuds was to have.

'Soapsuds!--Soapsuds!--that's not his name,' exclaimed her ladyship.

'_Sponge_, you fool! Soapey Sponge,' exclaimed Cut.i.tfat, who had ferreted out Sponge's _nomme de Londres_.

'He's not come, has he?' asked Miss Glitters eagerly.

'Yes, my lady--that's to say, miss,' replied Peter.

'Come, has he!' chorused three or four voices.

'Well, he must have a (hiccup) room,' observed Sir Harry. 'The green--the one above the billiard-room will do,' added he.

'But _I_ have that, Sir Harry,' exclaimed Miss Howard.

'Oh, it'll hold two well enough,' observed Miss Glitters.

'Then _you_ can be the second,' replied Miss Howard, with a toss of her head.

'Indeed!' sneered Miss Glitters, bridling up. 'I like that.'

'Well, but where's the (hiccup) man to be put?' asked Sir Harry.

'There's Ladofwax's room,' suggested her ladyship.