68 mr. sponge's sporting tour. 



Thornton, " { stiff,' if you prefer it — say three months ; or perhaps 

 you'll give us four ? " 



" Three's long enough in all conscience," replied Mr. Sponge, with 

 a shake of the head ; adding, " Bullfrog made me pay down on the 

 nail." 



" Well, so be it, then," assented Mr. Thornton ; " you draw at 

 three months, and Mr. Waffles will accept, payable at Coutts's." 



After so much liberality, Mr. Caingey expected that Mr. Sponge 

 would have hinted at something handsome for him ; but all Sponge 

 said was, " So be it," too, as he walked away to buy a bill-stamp. 



Mr. Waffles was more considerate, and promised him the first 

 mount on his new purchase, though Caingey would rather have had 

 a ten, or even a five-pound note. 



Towards the hour of ten on that eventful day, numerous gaitered, 

 trousered, and jacketed grooms began to ride up and down the High- 

 street, most of them with their stirrups crossed negligently on the 

 pommels of the saddles, to indicate that their masters were going to 

 ride the horses, and not them. The street grew lively, not so much 

 with people going to hunt, as with people comiDg to see those who 

 were. Tattered Hibernians, with rags on their backs and jokes on 

 their lips; young English chevaliers cPindustrie, with their hands 

 ready to dive into anybody's pockets but their own ; stablemen out of 

 place, servants loitering on their errands, striplings helping them, 

 ladies'-maids with novels or three cornered-notes, and a good crop of 

 beggars. 



" What, Spareneck, do you ride the grey to-day ? I thought you'd 

 done Gooseman out of a mount," observed Ensign Downley, as a line 

 of scarlet-coated youths hung over the balcony of the Imperial Hotel, 

 after breakfast and before mounting for the day. 



Spareneck. — " No, that's for Tuesday. He wouldn't stand one to- 

 day. What do you ride ? " 



Downley. — " Oh, I've a hack, one of Screwman's, Perpetual 

 Motion they call him, because he never gets any rest. That's him, I 

 believe with the lofty-actioned hind legs," added he, pointing to a 

 weedy string-halty bay passing below, high in bone and low in flesh. 



" Who's o' the gaudy chestnut ? " asked Caingey Thornton, who 

 now appeared, wiping his fat lips after his second glass of eau de vie. 



" That's Mr. Sponge's," replied Spareneck in a low tone, knowing 

 how soon a man catches his own name. 



u A deuced fine horse he is, too," observed Caingey, in a louder 

 key ; adding, " Sponge has the finest lot of horses of any man in Eng- 

 land — in the world, I may say." 



Mr. Sponge himself now rose from the breakfast table, and was 

 speedily followed by Mr. Waffles and the rest of the party, some bear- 

 ing sofa-pillows and cushions to place on the balustrades, to loll at their 

 ease, in imitation of the Coventry club swells in Piccadilly. Then 



