356 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



Thump ! thump ! thump ! went Mr. Sponge at the door ; rap— 

 tap — tap, he went at it with his whip. 



" Comin', sir ! coinin' ! " exclaimed Bartholomew from the 

 inside. 



Presently the shooting of holts, the withdrawal of bands, and the 

 opening of doors, were heard. 



" Not gone to bed yet, old boy ? " said Mr. Sponge, as he 

 entered. 



" No thir ! " snuffled the boy ; who had a bad cold, "been thitten 

 up for yon." 



" Old puff-and-blow gone ? " asked Mr. Sponge, depositing his 

 hat and whip on a chair. 



The boy gave no answer. 



" Is old lellows-to-mend gone to hed ? " asked Mr. Sponge in a 

 louder voice. 



" The charman's gone," replied the boy, who looked upon his 

 master — the chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Union — as the imper- 

 sonification of all earthly greatness. 



" Dash your impittance," growled Jog, slinking back into the 

 nursery — "I'll pay you off ! (puff)," added he, with a jerk of hia 

 white night-capped head, "III lelloivs-to-mencl you ! (wheeze)." 



Gustavus James's internal qualms being at length appeased, Mr. 

 Jogglebury Crowdey returned to bed, but not to sleep — sleep there 

 was none for him. He was full of indignation and jealousy, and 

 felt suspicious of the very bolster itself. He had been insulted — 

 grossly insulted. Three such names — the " Woolpack," " Old puff- 

 and-blow," and " Bellows-to-mend " — no gentleman, surely, ever 

 was called before by a guest, in his own house. Called, too, before 

 his own servant. What veneration, what respect, could a servant 

 feel for a master whom he heard called " Old Bellows-to-mend ? " 

 It damaged the respect inspired by the chairmanship of the Stir-it- 

 stiff Union, to say nothing of the trusteeship of the Sloppyhocks, 

 Tolpuddle, and other turnpike-roads. It annihilated everything. 

 So he fumed, and fretted, and snorted, and snored. Worst of all, 

 he had no one to whom he could unburden his grievance. He 

 could not make the partner of his bosom a partner in his woes, 

 because— and he bounced about so that he almost shot the clothes 

 off the bed, at the thoughts of the "why." 



Thus he lay, tumbling and tossing, and fuming and wheezing 

 and puffing, now vowing vengeance against Leather, who he 

 recollected had called him the " Woolpack," and determining to 

 have him turned off in the morning for his impudence — now 

 devising schemes for getting rid of Mr. Sponge and him together. 

 Oh, could he but see them oft' ! could he but see the portmanteau 

 and carpet-bag again standing in the passage, he would gladly lend 

 his phaeton to carry them anywhere. He would drive it himself 



