208 MR. SPONGE' IS SPORTING TOUR. 



and bright eyes, and sweet glances, that the fair flyers shot at our 

 friend as they darted past. We were lost in astonishment at the 

 sight. " Verily," said we, " but the old man was right. This is 

 an anw/zin instance of a pop'lar man." 



Young Puffington was then in the heyday of youth, about one- 

 and-twenty or so, fair-haired, fresh-complexioned, slim, and 

 standing, with the aid of high-heeled boots, little under six feet 

 high. He had taken after his mother, not after old Tom Trodgers, 

 as they called his papa. At length we crossed over Oxford-street, 

 and taking the shady side of Bond-street, were quickly among the 

 real swells of the world — men who crawled along as if life was a 

 perfect burden to them — men with eye-glasses fixed and tasselled 

 canes in their hands, scarcely less ponderous than those borne by 

 the footmen. Great Heavens ! but they were tight, and smart, 

 and shiny ; and Puffington was just as tight, and smart, and 

 shiny as any of them. He was as much in his element here as he 

 appeared to be out of it in Oxford-street. It might be prejudice, 

 or want of penetration on our part, but we thought he looked as 

 high-bred as any of them. They all seemed to know each other, 

 and the nodding, and winking, and jerking, began as soon as we 

 got across. Puff kindly acted as cicerone, or we should not have 

 been aware of the consequence we were encountering. 



" Well, Jemmy ! " exclaimed a debauched-looking youth to our 

 friend, " how are you ? — breakfasted yet ? " 



"Going to," replied Puffington, whom they called Jemmy because 

 his name was Tommy. 



" That," said he, in an undertone " is a capital fellow, — Lord 

 Legbail, eldest son of the Marquis of Loosefish — will be Lord 

 Loose fish. We were at the Finish together till six this morning — 

 such fun! — bonneted a Charley, stole his rattle, and broke an early 

 breakfast-man's stall all to shivers." Just then up came a broad- 

 brimmed hat, above a confused mass of greatcoats and coloured 

 shawls. 



"Holloa, Jack?" exclaimed Mr. Puffington, laying hold of a 

 mother-of-pearl button, nearly as large as a tart -plate — "not off 

 yet ? " 



" Just going," replied Jack, with a touch of his hat, as he rolled 

 on ; adding, " want aught down the road ? " 



" What coachman is that ? " asked we. 



" Coachman ! " replied Puff, with a snort ; " that's Jack Linch- 

 pin — Honourable Jack Linchpin — son of Lord Splinterbars, — best 

 gentleman coachman in England." 



So Puffington sauntered along good morninging " Sir Harrys," 

 and " Sir Jameses," and " Lord Johns," and " Lord Toms," till 

 seeing a batch of irreproachable dandies flattening their noses 

 against the windows of the Sailors' Old Club, in whose eyes, he 



