352 mr. sponge's sporting tour. 



ties, stood and lay about among blacking bottles, Seltzer water bot- 

 tles, boot-trees, bath-bricks, old brushes, and stumpt-up besoms. 

 Several pair of dirty top-boots, most of them with the spurs on, 

 were chucked into the shoe-house just as they had been taken off. 

 The kitchen, into which our friend now entered, was in the same 

 disorderly state. Numerous copper pans stood simmering on the 

 charcoal stoves, and the jointless jack still revolved on the spit. A 

 dirty slip-shod girl sat sleeping, with her apron thrown over her 

 head, which rested on the end of a table. The open door of the 

 servants' hall, hard by> disclosed a pile of dress and other clothes, 

 which, after mopping up the ale and other slops, would be carefully 

 folded and taken back to the rooms of their respective owners. 



" Halloo ! " cried Mr. Sponge, shaking the sleeping girl by the 

 shoulder, which caused her to start up, stare, and rub her eyes 

 in wild affright. " Halloo ! " repeated he, " what's happened you?" 

 " Oh, beg pardon, sir ! " exclaimed she; "beg pardon," continued 

 she, clasping her hands; "I'll never do so again, sir; no, sir, I'll 

 never do so again, indeed I wonH" 



She had just stolen a shape of blanc-mange, and thought she was 

 caught. 



" Then show me where I'll find pen and ink and paper," replied 

 our friend. 



" Oh, sir, I don't know nothing about them," replied the girl; 

 indeed, sir, I donH ; " thinking it was some other petty larceny he 

 was inquiring about. 



" Well, but you can tell me where to find a sheet of paper, sure- 

 ly ? " rejoined he. 



" Oh, indeed, sir, I canH" replied she ; " I know nothin' about 

 nothin' of the sort." Servants never do. 



" What sort ? " asked Mr. Sponge, wondering at her vehemence. 

 " Well, sir, about what you said," sobbed the girl, applying the 

 corner of her dirty apron to her eyes. 



" Hang it, the girl's mad," rejoined our friend, brushing by, and 

 making for the passage beyond. This brought him past the still 

 room, the steward's room, the housekeeper's room, and the butler's 

 pantry. All were in most glorious confusion ; in the latter, Captain 

 Cutitfat's lacquer-tocd, lavender-coloured dress-boots were reposing 

 in the silver soup-tureen, and Captain Bouncey's varnished pumps 

 were stuffed into a wine-cooler. The last detachment of empty bot- 

 tles stood or lay about the floor, commingling with boot-jacks, knife- 

 trays, bath-bricks, coat-brushes, candle-end boxes, plates, lanterns, 

 lamp-glasses, oil bottles, corkscrews, wine-strainers — the usual mis- 

 cellaneous appendages of a butler's pantry. All was still and quiet; 

 not a sound, save the loud ticking of a time-piece, or the occasional 

 creak of a jarring door, disturbed the solemn silence of the house. 

 A nimble-handed mugger or tramp might have carried off whatever 

 he liked. 





