MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 439 



like himself could make. He has been surfeited with tips. Peep- 

 ing Tom advised him to back Daddy Longlegs ; and, nullus error, 

 Sneaking Joe has counselled him "that the "Baronet" will be 

 " California without cholera, and gold without danger ; " while 

 Jemmy something, the jockey, who advertises that his " tongue is 

 not for falsehood framed," though we should think it was framed 

 for nothing else, has urged him to back Parvo to half the amount of 

 the national debt. 



Altogether, Pacey has made such a mess that he cannot possibly 

 win, and may lose almost any sum from a thousand pounds, down 

 to a hundred and eighty. Mr. Sponge has got well on with him, 

 through the medium of Jack Spraggon. 



Pacey is now going to what he calls " compare " — see that he 

 has got his bets booked right ; and, throwing his right leg over 

 his cob's neck, he blobs on to the ground ; and leaving the pony 

 to take care of itself, disappears in the crowd. 



What a hubbub ! what roarings, and shoutings, and recognis- 

 ings ! " Bless my heart ! who'd have thought of seeing you ? " 

 and, " By jingo ! what's sent you here ? " 



"My dear Waffles," cries Jawleyford, rushing up to our 

 Laverick Wells friend (who is looking very debauched), "I'm over- 

 joyed to see you. Do come up-stairs and see Mrs. Jawleyford 

 and the dear girls. It was only last night we were talking about 

 you." And so Jawleyford hurries Mr. Waffles off, just as 

 Waffles is in extremis about his horse. 



Looking around the scene there seems to be everybody that we 

 have had the pleasure of introducing to the reader in the course 

 of Mr. Sponge's Tour. Mr. and Mrs. Springwheat in their dog- 

 cart, Mrs. Springey's figure, looking as though " wheat had got 

 above forty, my lord ; " old Jog and his handsome wife in the 

 ugly old phaeton, well garnished with children, and a couple of 

 sticks in the rough peeping out of the apron, Gustavus James 

 held up in his mother's arms, with the curly blue feather nodding 

 over his nose. There is also Farmer Peastraw, and faces that a 

 patient inspection enables us to appropriate to Dribble, and Hook, 

 and Capon, and Calcot, and Lumpleg, and Crane of Crane Hall, 

 and Charley Slapp of red-coat times — people look so different in 

 plain clothes to what they do in hunting ones. Here, too, is 

 George Cheek, running down with perspiration, having run oyer 

 from Dr. Latherington's, for which he will most likely " catch it " 

 when he gets back ; and oh, wonder of wonders, here's Robert 

 Foozle himself! 



" Well, Robert, you've come to the steeple-chase ? " 



" Yes, I've come to the steeple-chase." 



" Are you fond of steeple-chases ? " 



" Yes, I'm fond of steeple-chases." 



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