MR. SPONGE S SPORTING TOUR. 101 



CHAPTER XIX. 



THE WET DAY. 



"When the dirty slip-shod housemaid came in the morning with her 

 blacksmith's-looking tool-box to light Mr. Sponge's fire, a riotous 

 winter's day was in the full swing of its gloomy, deluging power. 

 The wind howled, and roared, and whistled, and shrieked, playing a 

 sort of seolian harp amongst the towers, pinnacles, and irregular 

 castleisations of the house ; while the old casements rattled and 

 shook, as though some one were trying to knock them in. 



" Hang the clay ! " muttered Sponge from beneath the bedclothes; 

 " What the deuce is a man to do with himself on such a day as this, 

 in the country? " thinking how much better he would be flattening 

 his nose against the coffee-room window of the Bantam, or strolling 

 through the horse-dealers' stables in Piccadilly or Oxford-street. 



Presently the over-night chair before the fire, with the picture of 

 Jawleyford in the Bumperkin yeomanry, as seen through the parted 

 curtains of the spacious bed, recalled his over-night speculations, and 

 he began to think that perhaps he was just as well where he was. He 

 then " backed " his ideas to where he had left off, and again began 

 speculating on the chances of his position. " Deuced fine girls," said 

 he, " both of em: wonder what he'll give 'em down ?" — recurring to 

 his over-night speculations, and hitting upon the point at which he 

 had burnt his lips with the end of the cigar — namely, Jawleyford's 

 youth, and the possibility of his marrying again if Mrs. Jawleyford 

 were to die. " It won't do to raise up difficulties for one's-self, how- 

 ever,'' mused he; so, kicking off the bedclothes, he raised himself 

 instead, and making for a window, began to gaze upon his expectant 

 territory. 



It was a terrible day; the ragged, spongy clouds drifted heavily 

 along, and the lowering gloom was only enlivened by the occasional 

 driving rush of the tempest. Earth and sky were pretty much the 

 same grey, damp, disagreeable hue. 



" Well," said Sponge to himself, having gazed sufficiently on the 

 uninviting landscape, " it's just as well it's not a hunting day — 

 should have got terribly soused. Must get through the time as well 

 as I can — girls to talk to — house to see. Hope I've brought my 

 Mogg," added he, turning to his portmanteau, and diving for his 

 " Tea Thousand Cab Fares." Having found the invaluable volume, 

 his almost constant study, he then proceeded to array himself in what 

 he considered the most captivating apparel ; a new wide-sleeved dock- 

 tail coatee, with outside pockets placed very low, faultless drab 



