32 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



eased hiin of his wrapper, and inquired about his luggage, and 

 despatched a porter for a fly, they stood together over the port- 

 manteau and hat-box till it arrived. 



" How are the horses ? " asked Sponge. 



" Oh, the osses be nicely, sir," replied Leather ; " they travelled 

 down uncommon well, and I've had 'em both removed sin they 

 com'd, so either on 'em is fit to go i' the mornin' that you think 

 proper." 



" Where are the hounds ? " asked our hero. 



" 'Ounds be at Whirleypool Windmill," replied Leather, " that's 

 about five miles off." 



" What sort of country is it ? " inquired Sponge. 



" It be a stiffish country from all accounts, with a good deal o' 

 water jumpin' ; that is to say, the Liffey runs twistin' and twinin' 

 about it like a H'Eel." 



" Then I'd better ride the brown, I think," observed Sponge, 

 after a pause : " he has size and stride enough to cover anything, 

 if he will but face water." 



" I'll warrant him for that," replied Leather ; " only let the 

 Latchfords well into him, and he'll go." 



" Are there many hunting-men down ? " inquired our friend, 

 casually. 



" Great many," replied Leather, " great many ; some good 

 'ands among 'em too ; at least so say their grums, though I never 

 believe all these jockeys say. There be some on 'em 'ere now," 

 observed Leather, in an under tone, with a wink of his roguish 

 eye, and jerk of his head towards where a knot of them stood 

 eyeinu - our friend most intently. 



" Which ? " inquired Sponge, looking about the thinly-peopled 

 station. 



" There," replied Leather, " those by the book-stall. That be 

 Mr. Waffles," continued he, giving his master a touch in the ribs 

 as he jerked his portmanteau into a fly, " that be Mr. Waffles" 

 repeated he, with a knowing leer. 



" Which ! " inquired Mr. Sponge eagerly. 



" The gent in the green wide-awake 'at, and big-button'd over- 

 coat," replied Leather, " jest now aspeakin' to the youth in the 

 tweed and all tweed ; that be Master Caingey Thornton, as big a 

 little blackguard as any in the place — lives upon Waffles, and yet 

 never has a good word to say for him, no, nor for no one else — 

 and yet to 'ear the little devil a-talkin' to him, you'd really fancy 

 he believed there wasn't not never sich another man i' the world 

 as Waffles — not another sich rider — not another sich racket-player 

 — not another sich pigeon-shooter — not another sich fine chap 

 altogether." 



" Has Thornton any horses ? " asked Sponge. 



