23 



the way home, accompanying each cut with an imprecation such as 

 " me make a guy of myself!" (whip) " me put on sich things ! " (whip, 

 whip) " me drive down Sin Jimses-strcet ! " (whip, whip, whip), " I'd 



see her fust I" (whip, whip, whip), cutting at the old horse just 



as if he was laying it into Miss Wrinkleton, so that by the time he 

 got home he had established a considerable lather on the old nag, 

 which his master resenting, a row ensued, the sequel of which may 

 readily be imagined. After assisting Mrs. Clearstarch, the Kilburn 

 laundress, in getting in and taking out her washing, for a few weeks, 

 chance at last landed him at Mr. Benjamin Buckram's, from whence 

 he is now about to be removed to become our hero Mr. Sponge's 

 Sancho Panza, in his fox-hunting, fortune-hunting career, and dissem- 

 inate in remote parts his doctrines of the real honour and dignity of 

 servitude. Now to the inspection. 



Peter Leather, having a peep-hole as well as his master, on seeing 

 Mr. Sponge arrive, had given himself an extra rub over, and covered 

 his dirty shirt with a clean, well-tied, white kerchief, and a whole col- 

 oured scarlet waistcoat, late the property of one of his noble employers, 

 in hopes that Sponge's visit might lead to something. Peter was about 

 sick of the suburbs, and thought, of course, that he couldn't be worse 

 off than where he was. 



" Here's Mr. Sponge wants some osses," observed Mr. Buckram, 

 as Leather met them in the middle of the little yard, and brought 

 his right arm round with a sort of military swing to his forehead ; 

 "what 'ave we in?" continued Buckram, with the air of a man 

 with so many horses that he didn't know what were in and what 

 were out. 



" Vy we 'ave Rumbleton in," replied Leather thoughtfully, strok- 

 ing down his hair as he spoke, " and we 'ave Jack o'Lanthorn in, and 

 we 'ave the Camel in, and there's the little Hirish oss with the sprig 

 tail — Jack-a-Dandy, as I calls him, and the Flyer will be in to-night, 

 he's jest out a hairing, as it were, with old Mr. Callipash." 



" Ah, Rumbleton won't do for Mr. Sponge," observed Buckram, 

 thoughtfully, at the same time letting go a tremendous avalanche of 

 silver down his trouser pocket, " Rumbleton won't do," repeated he, 

 "nor Jack-a-Dandy nouther." 



" Why, I wouldn't commend neither on 'em," replied Peter, taking 

 his cue from his master, " only ven you axes me vot there's in, you 

 knows vy I must give you a cor-rect answer, in course." 



" In course," nodded Buckram. 



Leather and Buckram had a good understanding in the lying line, 

 and had fallen into a sort of tacit arrangement, that if the former was 

 staunch about the horses he was at liberty to make the best terms he 

 could for himself. Whatever Buckram said, Leather swore to, and 

 they had established certain signals and expressions that each un- 

 derstood. 



