MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 357 



for the pleasure of knowing and feeling he was clear of them. He 

 wouldn't haggle about the pikes ; nay, he would even give Spongo 

 a gibbey, any he liked — the pick of the whole — Wellington, 

 Napoleon Bonaparte, a crowned head even, though it would 

 damage the set. So he lay, rolling and restless, hearing every 

 clock strike ; now trying to divert his thoughts, by making a 

 rough calculation what all his gibbies put together were worth ; now 

 considering whether he had forgotten to go for any he had marked 

 in the course of his peregrinations ; now wishing he had laid one 

 about old Leather, when he fell on his knees after calling him the 

 " Woolpack ; " then wondering whether Leather would have had 

 him before the County Court for damages, or taken him before 

 Justice Slowcoach for the assault. As morning advanced, his 

 thoughts again turned upon the best mode of getting rid of his 

 most unwelcome guests, and he arose and dressed, with the full 

 determination of trying what he could do. 



Having tried the effects of an up-stairs shout the morning before, 

 he decided to see what a down one would do ; accordingly, he 

 mounted the stairs and climbed the sort of companion-ladder that 

 led to the servants attics, where he kept a stock of gibbies in the 

 rafters. Having reached this, he cleared his throat, laid his head 

 over the banisters, and putting an open hand on each side of his 

 mouth to direct the sound, exclaimed with a loud and audible voice. 



" Bartholo — m — e— w ! " 



" Bar — tho — lo — m — e — e — iv 1 " repeated he, after a pause, 

 with a full separation of the syllables and a prolonged intonation 

 of the m — e — w. 



No Bartholomew answered. 



" Murry Ann ! " then hallooed Jog, in a sharper, quicker key. 

 " Murry Ann ! " repeated he, still louder, after a pause. 



" Yes, sir ! here, sir ! " exclaimed that invaluable servant, tidy- 

 ing her pink-ribboned cap as she hurried into the passage below. 

 Looking up, she caught sight of her master's great sallow chaps 

 hanging like a flitch of bacon over the garret banister. 



" Oh, Murry Ann," bellowed Mr. Jog, at the top of his voice, 

 still holding his hands to his mouth, as soon as he saw her, " Oh, 

 Murry Ann, you'd better get the (puff) breakfast ready ; I think 

 the (gasp) Mr. Sponge will be (wheezing) away to day." 



" Yes, sir," replied Mary Ann. 



" And tell Bartholomew to get his washin' bills in." 



" He harn't had no washin' done," replied Mary Ann, raising 

 her voice to correspond with that of her master. 



" Then his bill for postage," replied Mr. Jog, in the same tone. 



•' He harn't had no letters neither," replied Mary Ann. 



" Oh, then, just get the breakfast ready," rejoined Jog ; adding, 

 " he'll be (wheezing) away as soon as he gets it, I (puff) expect." 



