MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 3S5 



re-entered the bouse by the kitchens, to have the pleasure of seeing 

 Mr. Sponge oil'. He found the portmanteau and carpet-bag 

 standing in the passage ; and just at the moment the sound of the 

 phaeton wheels fell on his car, as Bartholomew drove round from 

 the coach-house to the door. Mr. Sponge was already in the 

 parlour, making his adieus to Mrs. Jog and the children, who 

 were all assembled for the purpose. 



" What, are you goin' ? " (puff) asked Jog, with an air of 

 surprise. 



" Yes," replied Mr. Sponge ; adding, as he tendered his hand, 

 " the best friends must part, you know." 



"Well (puff), but you'd better have your (wheeze) horse 

 round," observed Jog, anxious to avoid any overture for a 

 return. 



" Thankee," replied Mr. Sponge, making a parting bow ; " I'll get 

 him at the stable." 



" I'll go with you," said Jog, leading the way. 



Leather had saddled, and bridled, and turned him round in the 

 stall, with one of Mr. Jog's blanket-rugs on, which Mr. Sponge 

 just swept over his tail into the manger, and led the horse out. 



" Adieu ! " said he, offering his hand to his host. 



" Good-bye ! — good, (puff) sport to you," said Jog, shaking it 

 heartily. 



Mr. Sponge then mounted his hack, and cocking out his toe, 

 rode off at a canter. 



At the same moment, Bartholomew drove away from the front 

 door ; and Jog, having stood watching the phaeton over the rise 

 of Pennypound Hill, scraped his feet, re-entered his house, and 

 rubbing them heartily on the mat as he closed the sash-door, observed 

 aloud to himself, with a jerk of his head — 



" Well, now, that's the most (puff ) impittent feller I ever saw 

 in my life ! Catch me (gasp) godpapa-hunting again." 



" The fatal invitation to Mr. Sponge having been sent, the question 

 that now occupied the minds of the assembled sharpers at Nonsuch 

 House, was, whether he was a pigeon or one of themselves. That 

 point occupied their very deep and serious consideration. If he was 

 a " pigeon," they could clearly accommodate him, but if, on the 

 other hand, he was one of themselves, it was painfully apparent 

 that there were far too many of them there already. Of course, 

 the subject was not discussed in full and open conclave — they 

 were all highly honourable men in the gross — and it was only in 

 the small and secret groups of those accustomed to hunt together 

 and unburden their minds, that the real truth was elicited. 



"What an ass Sir Harry is, to ask this Mr. Sponge," observed 

 Captain Quod to Captain Seedeybuck, as (cigar in mouth) they 

 paced backwards and forwards under the flagged verandah on the 



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