156 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



with a dot-and-go-one sort of action, hopping its way up th<> 

 slumpey avenue. 



" That's Buggins the bailiff," exclaimed he to himself, as the 

 recollection of an unanswered lawyer's letter flashed across his mind ; 

 and he was just darting off to the bell to warn Spigot not to admit 

 any one, when the lad's cockade standing in relief against the sky- 

 line, caused him to pause and gaze again at the unwonted apparition. 



" Who the deuce can it be ? " asked he of himself, looking at his 

 watch, and seeing it was a quarter past four. " It surely can't be 

 my lord, or that Jack Spraggon coming after all ? " added he, 

 drawing out a telescope and opening a lancet-window. 



" Spraggon as I live ! " exclaimed he as he caught Jack's harsh, 

 spectacled features, and saw him titivating his hair and arranging 

 his collar and stock as he approached. 



" Well, that beats everything ! " exclaimed Jawleyford, burning 

 with rage, as he fastened the window again. 



He stood for a few seconds transfixed to the spot, not knowing 

 what on earth to do. At last resolution came to his aid, and, 

 rushing up stairs to his dressing-room, he quickly divested himself 

 of his coat and waistcoat, and slipped on a dressing-gown and 

 night-cap. He then stood, door in hand, listening for the 

 arrival. He could just hear the gig grinding under the portico, 

 and distinguish Jack's gruff voice saying to the servant from the 

 top of the steps — " We'll start directly after breakfast, mind." A 

 tremendous peal of the bell immediately followed, convulsing the 

 whole house, for nobody had seen the vehicle approaching, and 

 the establishment had fallen into the usual state of undress torpor 

 that intervenes between calling hours and dinner-time. 



The bell not being answered as quickly as Jack expected, he 

 just opened the door himself ; and when Spigot arrived, with such 

 a force as he could raise at the moment, Jack was in the act of 

 " peeling " himself, as he called it. 



" What time do we dine ? " asked he, with the air of a man with 

 the entree. 



" Seven o'clock, my lord — that's to say, sir — that's to say, my 

 lord," for Spigot really didn't know whether it was Jack or his 

 master. 



" Seven o'clock /" muttered Jack. " What the deuce is the use 

 of dinin' at such an hour as that in winter ? " 



Jack and my lord always dined as soon as they got home from 

 hunting. Jack, having got himself out of his wraps, and run his 

 bristles backwards with a pocket-comb, was ready for presen- 

 tation. 



" AVhat name shall I enounce ? " asked Mr. Spigot, fearful of 

 committing himself before the ladies. 



"Mister Spraggon, to be sure," exclaimed Jack, thinking. 



