MR. sponge's sporting tour. 271 



trying his diplomacy upon him, it being contrary to Mr. Plummey's 

 custom to go out of doors after any one. At last he saw Sponge 

 coming lounging along the terrace-walk, looking like a man thorough- 

 ly disengaged, and timing himself properly, encountered him in the 

 entrance. 



" Beg pardon, sir," said Mr. Piummey, " but cook, sir, wishes to 

 know, sir, if you dine here to-day, sir ? " 



" Of course," replied Mr. Sponge, " where would you have me 

 dine ? " 



" Oh, I didn't know, sir— only Mr. Pumngton, sir, is very poorly, 

 sir, and I thought p'raps you'd be dining out." 



"Poorly is he?" replied Mr. Sponge; "sorry to hear that — 

 what's the matter with hitn ? " 



"Bad bilious attack, I think," replied Piummey — " very subject 

 to them, at this time of year particklarly ; was laid up, at least con- 

 fined to his room, three weeks last year of a similar attack." 



" Indeed ! " replied Mr. Sponge, not relishing the information. 



" Then I must say you'll dine here ? " said the butler. 



" Yes; I must have my dinner, of course," replied Mr. Sponge : 

 " I'm not ill, you know ; no occasion to make a great spread for 

 me, you know ; but still I must have some victuals, you know." 



" Certainly, sir, certainly," replied Mr. Piummey. 



" I couldn't think of leaving Mr. Pufiington when he's poorly," 

 observed Mr. Sponge, half to himself and half to the butler. 



" Oh, master — that's to say, Mr. Pufiington — always does best 

 when left alone," observed Mr. Piummey, catching at the sentence : 

 " indeed the medical men recommend perfect quiet and moderate liv- 

 ing as the best thing." 



" Do they," replied Sponge, taking out another cigar. Mr. Pium- 

 mey then withdrew, and presently went up-stairs to report progress, 

 or rather want of progress, to the gentleman whom he sometimes con- 

 descended to call " master." 



Mr. Pumngton had been taking another spell at the paper, and 

 we need hardly say, that the more he read of the run the less he 

 liked it. 



"Ah, that's Mr. Sponge's handiwork," observed Piummey, as 

 with a sneer of disgust Mr. Pufiington threw the paper from him as 

 Piummey entered the room. 



" How do you know ? " asked Mr. Pufiington. 



" Saw it, sir — saw it in the letter-bag going to the post." 



" Indeed ! " replied Mr, Pufiington. 



" Mr. Spraggon and he did it after they came in from hunting." 



" I thought as much," replied Mr. Pufiington, in disgust. 



Mr. Piummey then related how unsuccessful had been his attempts 

 to get rid of the now most unwelcome guest. Mr. Pufiington lis- 

 tened with attention, determined to get rid of him somehow or other. 



