MR. SPONGE'S SPOUTING TOUR. 187 



in, receiving the marked attention usually paid to a red coat. 

 Mine host left his bar, where he was engaged in the usual occupa- 

 tion of drinking with customers for the " good of the house." A 

 map of the county, of such liberal dimensions, was speedily pro- 

 duced, as would have terrified any one unaccustomed to distances 

 and scales on which maps are laid down. For instance, Jawleyford 

 Court, as the crow flies, was the same distance from the cross-roads 

 at Dallington Burn as York was from London, in a map of England 

 hanging beside it. 



" It's a goodish way," said Sponge, getting a lighter off the 

 chimney-piece, and measuring the distances. "From Jawleyford 

 Court to Billingsborough Rise, say seven miles ; from Billings- 

 borough Rise to Downington Wharf, other seven ; from Downing- 

 ton Wharf to Shapcot, which seems the nearest point, will be — say 

 five or six, perhaps — nineteen or twenty in all. Well, that's my 

 work," he observed, scratching his head, " at least, my hack's ; 

 and from here, home," he continued, measuring away as he spoke, 

 " will be twelve or thirteen. Well, that's nothing," he said. 

 " Now for the horse," he continued, again applying the lighter 

 in a different direction. " From here to Hardington, will be, say 

 eight miles ; from Hardington to Bewley, other five ; eight and 

 live are thirteen ; and there, I should say, he might sleep. That 

 would leave ten or twelve miles for the morning ; nothing for a 

 hack hunter ; 'specially such a horse as that, and one that's done 

 nothing for I don't know how long." 



Altogether, Mr. Sponge determined to try it, especially consi- 

 dering that if he didn't get Tuesday, there would be nothing till 

 Thursday ; and he was not the man to keep a hack hunter 

 standing idle. 



Accordingly he sought Mr. Leather, whom he found busily 

 engaged in the servants' apartment, with a cold round of beef and 

 a foaming flagon of ale before him. 



" Leather," he said, in a tone of authority, "I'll hunt to-morrow 

 — ride the horse I should have ridden to-day." 



"Where at ? " asked Leather, diving his fork into a bottle of 

 pickles, and fishing out an onion. 



" The cross-roads," replied Sponge. 



" The cross-roads be fifty mile from here ! " cried Leather. 



"Nonsense ! " rejoined Sponge ; " I've just measured the distance. 

 It's nothing of the sort." 



" How far do you make it, then ? " asked Leather, tucking in 

 the beef. 



" Why, from here to Hardington is about six, and from Hard- 

 ington to Bewley, four — ten in all," replied Sponge. " You can 

 stay at Bewley all night, and then it is but a few miles on in the 

 morning." 



