254 MB. SPONGE'S SFOBTING TOUR. 



critical moment, when he has got his sheet prepared and his ideas 

 all ready to pour upon paper ; then splut — splut — splutter goes 

 the pen, and away goes the train of thought. Bold is the man 

 who undertakes to write his letters in his bed-room with country- 

 house pens. But, to our friends. Jack and Sponge slept next 

 door to each other ; Sponge, as we have already said, occupy- 

 ing the state-room, with its canopy-top bedstead, carved and 

 panelled sides, and elegant chintz curtains lined with pink, and 

 massive silk-and-bullion tassels ; while Jack occupied the dressing- 

 room, which was the state bed-room in miniature, only a good deal 

 more comfortable. The rooms communicated with double doors, 

 and our friends very soon effected a passage. 



" Have you any 'baccy ? " asked Jack, waddling in in his 

 slippers, after having sucked off his tops without the aid of a boot- 

 jack. 



" There's some in my jacket-pocket," replied Sponge, nodding 

 to where it hung in the wardrobe ; " but it won't do to smoke here, 

 will it ? " asked he. 



" Why not ? " inquired Jack. 



" Such a fme room," replied Sponge, looking around. 



" Oh, fine be hanged ! " replied Jack ; adding, as he made for 

 the jacket, " no place too fine for sniokin' in." 



Having helped himself to one of the best cigars, and lighted it, 

 Jack composed himself cross-legged in an easy, spring, stuffed 

 chair, while Sponge fussed about among the writing implements, 

 watering and stirring up the clotted ink, and denouncing each 

 pen in succession, as he gave it the initiatory trial in writing the 

 word " Sponge." 



" Curse the pens ! " exclaimed he, throwing the last bright crisp 

 yellow thing from him in disgust. " There's not one among 'em 

 that can go !— all reg'larly stumped up." 



" Haven't you a penknife ? " asked Jack, taking the cigar out 

 of his mouth. 



" Not I," replied Sponge. 



" Take a razor, then," said Jack, who was good at an 

 expedient. 



" I'll take one of yours," said Sponge, going into the dressing- 

 room for one. 



" Hang it, but you're rather too sharp," exclaimed Jack, with a 

 shake of his head. 



"It's more than your razor '11 be when I'm done with it," 

 replied Sponge. 



Having at length, with the aid of Jack's razor, succeeded in 

 getting a pen that would write, Mr. Sponge selected a sheet of best 

 cream-laid satin paper, and taking a cane-bottomed chair placed 

 himself at the table in an attitude for writing. Dipping the fine 



