282 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



Presently the stable-door opened, and the horse stepped slowly 

 and quietly out, looking blooming and bright after his previous 

 day's gallop. Pacey running his eyes over his clean muscular 

 legs and finely-shaped form, thought he hadn't done so far amiss 

 after all. Leather stood at the horse's head whistling and sooth- 

 ing him, feeling anything but the easy confidence that Mr. Pacey 

 exhibited. Putting his whip under his arm, Pacey just walked up 

 to the horse, and, placing the point of his foot in the stirrup, 

 hoisted himself on by the mane, without deigning to take hold of 

 reins. Having soused himself into the saddle he then began 

 feeling the stirrups. 



" How are they for length, sir ? " asked Leather with a hitch of 

 his hand to his forehead. 



" They'll do," replied Pacey, in a tone of indifference, gathering 

 up the reins, and applying his left heel to the horse's side, while 

 he gave him a touch of the whip on the other. The horse gave a 

 wince, and a hitch up behind ; as much as to say, " If you do 

 that again I'll kick in right earnest," and then walked quietly out 

 of the yard. 



'• I took the fiery edge off him yesterday, I think," observed 

 Jack, as he watched the horse's leisurely movements. 



" Not so sure of that," replied Sponge adding, as he left the 

 passage-window, " he'll be trying him in the park ; let's go and 

 see him from my window." 



Accordingly, our friends placed themselves at Sponge's bed-room 

 window, and presently the clash of a gate announced that Sponge 

 was right in his speculation. In another second the horse and 

 rider appeared in sight,- — the horse going much at his ease, but Mr. 

 Pacey preparing himself for action. He began working the bridle 

 and kicking his sides, to get him into a canter ; an exertion that 

 produced quite a contrary effect, for the animal slackened his pace 

 as Pacey's efforts increased. When, however, he took his whip 

 from under his arm, the horse darted right up into the air, and 

 plunging down again, with one convulsive effort shot Mr. Pacey 

 several yards over his head, knocking his head clean through his 

 hat. The brute then began to graze, as if nothing particular had 

 happened. This easy indifference, however, did not extend to the 

 neighbourhood ; for no sooner was Mr. Pacey floored than there 

 was such a rush of grooms, and helpers, and footmen, and 

 gardeners, — to say nothing of women, — from all parts of the 

 grounds, as must have made it very agreeable to him to know how 

 he had been watched. One picked him up, — another his hat-crown, 

 — a third his whip, — a fourth his gloves, — while Margaret, the 

 housemaid, rushed to the rescue with her private bottle of sal 

 volatile, — and John, the under-butler, began to extricate him from 

 the new-fashioned neckcloth he had made of his hat. 



