MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 77 



CHAPTER XV. 



JAWLEYFORD COURT. 



True to a minute, the hissing engine drew the swiftly-gliding 

 train beneath the elegant and costly station at Lucksford — an 

 edifice presenting a rare contrast to the wretched old red-tiled, five- 

 windowed house, called the Red Lion, where a brandy-faced 

 blacksmith of a landlord used to emerge from the adjoining 

 smithy, to take charge of any one who might arrive per coach for 

 that part of the country. Mr. Sponge was quickly on the plat- 

 form, seeing to the detachment of his horse-box. 



Just as the cavalry was about got into marching order, up rode 

 John Watson, a ragamuffin-looking gamekeeper, in a green plush 

 coat, with a very tarnished laced hat, mounted on a very shaggy 

 white pony, whose hide seemed quite impervious to the visitations 

 of a heavily-knotted dogwhip, with which he kept saluting his 

 shoulders and sides. 



"Please, sir," said he, riding up to Mr. Sponge, with a touch of 

 the old hat, " I've got you a capital three-stall stable at the Rail- 

 way Tavern, here," pointing to a newly-built brick house standing 

 on the rising ground. 



" Oh ! but I'm going to Jawleyford Court," responded our 

 friend, thinking the man was the " tout " of the tavern. 



" Mr. Jawleyford don't take in horses, sir," rejoined the man, 

 with another touch of the hat. 



"He'll take in mine,'''' observed Mr. Sponge, with an air of 

 authority. 



" Oh, I beg pardon, sir," replied the keeper, thinking he had 

 made a mistake ; " it was Mr. Sponge whose horses I had to be- 

 speak stalls for," touching his hat profusely as he spoke. 



" "Well, this be Mister Sponge," observed* Leather, who had been 

 listening attentively to what passed. 



" 'Deed ! " said the keeper, again turning to our hero, with an 

 " I beg pardon, sir, but the stable is for you then, sir, — for 

 Mr. Sponge, sir." 



" How do you know that ? " demanded our friend. 



" 'Cause Mr. Spigot, the butler, says to me, says he, 'Mr. Watson,' 

 says he — my name's Watson, you see," continued the speaker, 

 sawing away at his hat, " my name's Watson, you see, and I'm 

 the head gamekeeper. 'Mr. Watson,' says he, 'you must go down 

 to the tavern and order a three-stall stable for a gentleman of the 

 name of Sponge, whose horses are a comin' to-day ; ' and in course 

 I've come 'cordingly," added Watson. 



