320 MB. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



titt-up-ing across a grass field in the easy way that distance makes 

 very uneasy riding look. " Cut along ! " exclaimed he, laying into 

 the horse's hind-quarters with his hunting-whip. 



"Don't! the horse is (puff) tired," retorted Jog, angrily, hold- 

 ing the horse, instead of letting him go to Sponge's salute. 



" Not a bit on't ! " exclaimed Sponge ; " fresh as paint ! Spring 

 him a bit, that's a good fellow ! " added he. 



Jog didn't fancy being dictated to in this way, and just crawled 

 along at his own pace, some six miles an hour, his dull phlegmatic 

 face contrasting with the eager excitement of Mr. Sponge's coun- 

 tenance. If it had not been that Jog wanted to see that Leather 

 did not play any tricks with his horse, he would not have gone a 

 yard to please Mr. Sponge. Jog might, however, have been easy 

 on that score, for Leather had just buckled the curb-rein of the 

 horse's bridle round a tree in the plantations where they found 

 him, and the animal, being used to this sort of work, had fallen-to 

 quite contentedly upon the grass within reach. 



Bilkington Pike now appeared in view, and Jog drew in as he 

 epied it. He knew the damage : sixpence for carriages, and he 

 doubted that Sponge would pay it. 



" It's no use going any (wheeze) further," observed he, drawing 

 up into a walk, as he eyed the red-brick gable end of the toll-house, 

 and the formidable white gate across the road. 



Tom Coppers had heard the hounds, and, knowing the hurry 

 sportsmen are often in, had taken the precaution to lock the gate. 



" Just a leetle further ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, soothingly, 

 whose anxiety in looking after the hounds had prevented his 

 seeing this formidable impediment. " If you would just drive up 

 to that farm-house on the hill," pointing to one about half a mile 

 off, " I think we should be able to decide whether it's worth going 

 on or not." 



"Well (puff), well (wheeze), well (gasp)," pondered Jogglebury, 

 still staring at the gate, " if you (puff) think it's worth (wheeze) 

 while going through the (gasp) gate," nodding towardsitas he spoke. 



" Oh, never mind the gate," replied Mr. Sponge, with an osten- 

 tatious dive into his breeches pocket, as if he was going to pay it. 



He kept his hand in his pocket till he came close up to the gate, 

 when, suddenly drawing it out, he said — 



" Oh, hang it ! I've left my purse at home ! Never mind, drive 

 on," said he to his host ; exclaiming to the man, "it's Mr. 

 Crowdey's carriage — Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey's carriage ! Mr. 

 Crowdey, the chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Poor-Law Union ! " 



"Sixpence!" shouted the man, following the phaeton with 

 outstretched hand. 



"Ord, hang it (puff)! I could have done that (wheeze)," 

 growled Jogglebury, pulling up. 





