MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 157 



because he knew who he was, that everybody else ought to know 

 too. 



Spigot then led the way to the music-room. 



The peal at the bell had caused a suppressed commotion in the 

 apartment. Buried in the luxurious depths of a well-cushioned 

 low chair, Mr. Sponge sat, " Mogg " in hand, with a toe cocked 

 up, now dipping leisurely into his work — now whispering some- 

 thing sweet into Amelia's ear, who sat with her crochet-work at 

 his side ; while Emily played the piano, and Mrs. Jawleyford kept 

 in the background, in the discreet way mothers do when there is 

 a little business going on. The room was in that happy state of 

 misty light that usually precedes the entrance of candles — a 

 light that no one likes to call darkness, lest their eyes might he 

 supposed to be failing. It is a convenient light, however, for a 

 timid stranger, especially where there are not many footstools set 

 to trip him up — an exemption, we grieve to say, not accorded to 

 every one. 



Though Mr. Spraggon was such a cool, impudent fellow with 

 men, he was the most awkward, frightened wretch among ladies 

 that ever was seen. His conversation consisted principally of 

 coughing. " Hem ! " — cough — " yes, mum," — hem — cough, 

 cough — " the day," — hem — cough — " mum, is " — hem — cough — 

 " very," — hem— cough — " mum, cold." But we will introduce 

 him to our family circle. 



" Mr. Spraggon ! " exclaimed Spigot, in a tone equal to the 

 one in which Jack had announced himself in the entrance ; and 

 forthwith there was such a stir in the twilit apartment — such 

 suppressed exclamations of — 



" Mr. Spraggon ! — Mr. Spraggon ! What can bring him 

 here ? " 



Our traveller's creaking boots and radiant leathers eclipsing 

 the sombre habiliments of Mr. Spigot, Mrs. Jawleyford quickly 

 rose from her Pembroke writing-desk, and proceeded to greet him. 



" My daughters I think you know, Mr. Spraggon ; also Mr. 

 Sponge ? Mr. Spraggon," continued she, with a wave of her hand 

 to where our hero was ensconced in his form, in case they should 

 not have made each other's speaking acquaintance. 



The young ladies rose, and curtsied prettily ; while Mr. Sponge 

 gave a sort of backward hitch of his head as he sat in his chair, 

 as much as to say, "I know as much of Mr. Spraggon as I 

 want." 



"Tell your master Mr. Spraggon is here," added Mrs. Jawley- 

 ford to Spigot, as that worthy was leaving the room. " It's a 

 cold day, Mr. Spraggon ; won't you come near the fire ?" continued 

 Mrs. Jawleyford, addressing our friend, who had come to a full 

 stop just under the chandelier in the centre of the room. 



