358 mr. sponge's sporting tour. 



reloading his gun, with a brace of liver and white setters crouchiDg 

 like statues in the stubble. 



" Seek dead ! " presently said the shooter, with a slight wave of 

 his hand ; and in an instant each dog was picking up his bird. 



" I'll have a word with you," said Sponge, " on and off-ing " the 

 hedge, his beat causing the shooter to start and look as if inclined 

 for a run ; second thoughts said Sponge was too near, and he'd better 

 brave it. 



" What sport? " asked Sponge, striding towards him. 



" Oh, pretty middling," replied the shooter, a great red-headed, 

 freckley-faced fellow, with backward-lying whiskers, crowned in a 

 drab rustic. " Oh, pretty middling," repeated he, not knowing 

 whether to act on the friendly or defensive. 



" Fine day ! " said Sponge, eyeing his fox-maskey whiskers and 

 stout, muscular frame. 



" It is," replied the shooter ; adding, " Just followed my birds 

 over the boundary. No 'fence, I s'pose — no 'fence." 



" Oh, no," said Mr. Sponge. " Jog, I des-say, '11 be very glad to 

 see you." 



" Oh, you'll be Mr. Sponge? " observed the stranger, jumping to 

 a conclusion. 



" I am," replied our hero ; adding, " May I ask who I have the 

 honour of addressing ? " 



" My name's Romford — Charley Romford ; every body knows 

 me. Yery glad to make your 'quaintance," tendering Sponge a great, 

 rough, heavy hand. " I was goin' to call upon you," observed the 

 stranger, as he ceased swinging Sponge's arm to and fro like a pump- 

 handle ; " I was goin' to call upon you, to see if you'd come over to 

 Washingforde, and have some shootin' at me Oncle's — oncle Gilroy's 

 at Queercove Hill." 



" Most happy ! " exclaimed Sponge, thinking it was the very 

 thing he wanted. 



" Get a day with the harriers, too, if you like," continued the 

 shooter, increasing the temptation. 



" Better still ! " thought Sponge. 



" I've only bachelor 'commodation to offer you ; but p'raps you'll 

 not mind roughing it a bit ? " observed Romford. 



" Oh, faith, not I ! " replied Sponge, thinking of the luxuries of 

 Puffington's bachelor habitation. " What sort of stables have you?" 

 asked our friend. • 



" Capital stables — excellent stables ! " replied the shooter ; "stalls 

 six feet in the clear, by twelve dip (deep), iron racks, oak stall-posts 

 covered with zinc, beautiful oats, capital beans, splendacious hay — 

 won without a shower ! " 



" Bravo ! " exclaimed Sponge, thinking he had lit on his legs, and 



