MB. SPONGE'S SPOUTING TOUR. .323 



the old horse by the head, executed the manoeuvre that Mr. 

 Jogglebury Crowdey first attempted. They then' commenced 

 retracing their steps, rather a long trail, even for people in an 

 amiable mood, but a terribly long one for disagreeing ones. 



Jog, to be sure, was pretty comfortable. He had got all he 

 wanted — all he went out a-hunting for ; and as he hissed and 

 jerked the old horse along, he kept casting an eye at the contents 

 of the apron, thinking what crowned, or great man's head, the 

 now rough, club-headed knobs should be fashioned to represent ; 

 and indulged in speculations as to their prospective worth and 

 possible destination. He had not the slightest doubt that a 

 thousand sticks to each of his children would be as good as a 

 couple of thousand pounds a-piece ; sometimes he thought more, 

 but never less. Mr. Sponge, on the other hand, brooded over the 

 loss of the run ; indulged in all sorts of speculations as to the 

 splendour of the affair ; pictured the figure he would have cut on 

 the chestnut, and the price he might have got for him in the field. 

 Then he thought of the bucketing Leather would give him ; the 

 way he would ram him at everything ; how he would let him go 

 with a slack rein in the deep — very likely making him overreach 

 — nay, there was no saying but he might stake him. 



Then he thought over all the misfortunes and mishaps of the 

 day. The unpropitious toilet ; the aggravation of " Obin and 

 Ichard ; " the delay caused by Jog being sick with his cigar ; the 

 divergence into Hackberry Dean ; and the long protracted wait 

 at the toll-bar. Reviewing all the circumstances fairly and 

 dispassionately, Mr. Sponge came to the determination of having 

 nothing more to do with Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey in the hunting 

 way. These, or similar cogitations and resolutions were, at length, 

 interrupted by their arriving at home, as denoted by an outburst of 

 children rushing from the lodge to receive them, — Gustavus James, 

 in his nurse's arms, bringing up the rear, to whom our friend 

 could hardly raise the semblance of a smile. 



It was all that little brat ! thought he. 



