184 mr. sponge's sporting tour. 



Having resigned his horse to his servant, Mr. Sponge walked in, 

 receiving the marked attention usually paid to a red coat. Mine 

 host left his bar, where he was engaged in the usual occupation of 

 drinking with customers for the " good of the house." A map of 

 the county, of such liberal dimensions, was speedily produced, as 

 would have terrified any one unaccustomed to distances and scales on 

 which maps are laid clown. For instance, Jawleyford Court, as the 

 crow flies, was the same distance from the cross-roads at Dallington 

 Burn as York was from London, in a map of England hanging 

 beside it. 



" It's a goodish way," said Sponge, getting a lighter off the 

 chimney-piece, and measuring the distances. " From Jawleyford 

 Court to Billingsborough Rise, say seven miles; from Billingsborough 

 Rise to Downington Wharf, other seven ; from Downington Wharf 

 to Shapcot, which seems the nearest point, will be — say five or six, 

 perhaps — nineteen or twenty in all. Well, that's my work," he 

 observed, scratching his head, " at least, my hack's ; and from here, 

 home," he continued, measuring away as he spoke, " will be twelve 

 or thirteen. Well, that's nothing," he said. " Now for the horse," 

 he continued, again applying the lighter in a different direction. 

 "From here to Hardington, will be, say eight miles; from Harding- 

 ton to Bewley, other five ; eight and five are thirteen ; and there, I 

 should say, he might sleep. That would leave ten or twelve miles 

 for the morning ; nothing for a hack hunter ; 'specially such a horse 

 as that, and one that's done nothing for I don't know how long." 



Altogether, Mr. Sponge determined to try it, especially consider- 

 ing that if he didn't get Tuesday, there would be nothing till Thurs- 

 day ; and he was not the man to keep a hack hunter standing idle. 



Accordingly he sought Mr. Leather, whom he found busily 

 engaged in the servants' apartment, with a cold round of beef and a 

 foaming flagon of ale before him. 



" Leather," he said, in a tone of authority, " I'll hunt to-nior- 

 row — r ide the horse I should have ridden to-day." 



" Where at ? " asked Leather, diving his fork into a bottle of 

 pickles, and fishing out an onion. 



" The cross-roads," replied Sponge. 



" The cross-roads be fifty mile from here ! " cried Leather. 



" Nonsense ! " rejoined Sponge ; " I've just measured the dis- 

 tance. It's nothing of the sort." 



" How far do you make it, then ? " asked Leather, tucking in the 

 beef. 



" Why, from here to Hardington, is about six, and from Harding- 

 ton to Bewley, four — ten in all," replied Sponge. " You can stay at 

 Bewley all night, and then it is but a few miles on in the morning." 



" And whativer am I to do for clothin' ? " asked Leather, add- 

 ing, " I've nothin' with me — nothin' nouther for oss nor man." 



