3111. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. CI 



to a weedy string-halty bay passing below, high in bone and low- 

 in flesh. 



" Who's o' the gaudy chestnut ? " ashed Caingey Thornton, 

 who now appeared, wiping his fat lips after his second glass of can 

 de vci. 



" That's Mr. Sponge's," replied Spareneck, in a low tone, know- 

 ing how soon a man catches his own name. 



" A deuced fine horse he is, too," observed Caingey, in a louder 

 key ; adding, " Sponge has the finest lot of horses of any man in 

 England — in the world, I may say." 



Mr. Sponge himself now rose from the breakfast table, and was 

 speedily followed by Mr. Waffles and the rest of the party, some 

 bearing sofa-pillows and cushions to place on the balustrades, to 

 loll at their ease, in imitation of the Coventry Club swells in 

 Piccadilly. Then our friends smoked their cigars, reviewed the 

 cavalry, and criticised the ladies who passed below in the flys on 

 their way to the meet. 



" Come, old Bolter ! " exclaimed one, " here's Miss Bussington 

 coming to look after you — got her mamma with her, too — so you 

 may as well knock under at once, for she's determined to have you." 



" A devil of a woman the old un is, too," observed Ensign 

 Downley ; "she nearly frightened Jack Simpers of ours into fits, 

 by asking what he meant after dancing three dances with her 

 daughter one night." 



"My word, but Miss Jumpheavy must expect to do some 

 execution to-day with that fine floating feather and her crimson 

 satin dress and ermine," observed Mr. Waffles, as that estimable 

 lady drove past in her Victoria phaeton. "She looks like the 

 Queen of Sheba herself. But come, I suppose," he added, taking a 

 most diminutive Geneva watch out of his waistcoat-pocket, " we 

 should be going. See ! there's your nag kicking up a shindy," he- 

 said to Caingey Thornton, as the redoubtable brown was led down 

 the street by a jean-jacketed groom, kicking and lashing out at 

 everything he came near. 



" I'll kick him," observed Thornton, retiring from the balcony 

 to the brandy-bottle, and helping himself to a pretty good-sized 

 glass. He then extricated his large cutting whip from the 

 confusion of whips with which it was mixed, and clonk, clonk, 

 clonked down stairs to the door. 



" Multum in Parvo " stopped the doorway, across whose 

 shoulder Leather passed the following hints, in a low tone of 

 voice, to Mr. Sponge, as the latter stood drawing on his dog-skin 

 gloves, the observed, as he flattered himself, of all observers. 



"Mind, now," said Leather, "this oss as a will of his own; 

 though he seems so quiet like, he's not always to be depended on - y 

 so be on the look-out for squalls." 



