MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 389 



Sponge's back, followed by such a proffered hand as could proceed 

 from none but his host. 



" Glad to see ye ! " exclaimed Facey, swinging Sponge's arm to 

 and fro. " Get off ! " continued he, half dragging him down, 

 " and let's go in ; for it's beastlv cold, and dinner '11 be ready in no 

 time ! " 



So saying, he led the captive Sponge down street, like a 

 prisoner, by the arm, and, opening the thin house-door, 

 pushed him up a very straight staircase into a little low cabin-like 

 room, hung with boxing-gloves, foils, and pictures of fighters and 

 ballet girls. 



" Glad to see ye ! " again said Facey, poking the diminutive 

 fire. " 'Axed Nosey Nickel and Gutty Weazel to meet you," 

 continued he, looking at the little " dinner-for-two " table ; " but 

 Nosey's gone wrong in a tooth, and Gutty's away sweetheartin'. 

 However, we'll be very cozey and jolly together ; and if you want 

 to wash your hands, or anything afore dinner, I'll show you your 

 bed-room," continued he, backing Sponge across the staircase 

 landing to where a couple of little black doors opened into rooms, 

 formed by dividing what had been the duplicate of the sitting- 

 room into two. 



" There ! " exclaimed Facey, pointing to Sponge's portmanteau 

 and bag, standing midway between the window and door : — 

 " There ! there are your traps. Yonder's the washhand-stand. 

 You can put your shavin'-things on the chair below the lookin'- 

 glass 'gainst the wall," pointing to a fragment of glass nailed 

 against the stencilled wall, all of which Sponge stood eyeing with 

 a mingled air of resignation and contempt ; but when Facey 

 pointed to — 



" The chest, contrived a double debt to pay — 

 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ;" 



and said that was where Sponge would have to curl himself up, 

 our friend shook his head, and declared he could not. 



" Oh, fiddle ! " replied Facey, " Jack Weatherley slept in it for 

 months, and he's half a hand higher than you — sixteen hands, if 

 he's an inch." And Sponge jerked his head and bit his lips, 

 thinking he was " done " for once. 



" "W-h-o-y, ar thought you'd been a fox-hunter," observed Facey, 

 seeing his guest's disconcerted look. 



" Well, but bein' a fox-hunter won't enable one to sleep in a 

 band-box, or to shut one's-self up like a telescope," retorted the 

 indignant Sponge. 



" Ord hang it, man ! you're so nasty partickler," rejoined 

 Facey ; " you're so nasty partickler. You'll never do to go out 

 duck-shootin' i' your shirt. Dash it, man ! Oncle Gilroy would 



