368 MR. sponge's sporting tour. 



Night had now closed in — a keen, boisterous, wintry night, 

 making the pocketful of coals that ornamented the grate peculiarly 

 acceptable. 



" B-o-y Jove, what a night ! " exclaimed Facey, as a blash of 

 sleet dashed across the window, as if some one had thrown a hand- 

 full of pebbles against it. " B-o-y Jove, what a night ! " repeated 

 he, rising and closing the shutters, and letting down the little scanty 

 red curtain. " Let us draw in and have a hot brew," continued he, 

 stirring the fire under the kettle, and handing a lot of cigars out 

 of the table-drawer. They then sat smoking and sipping, and smok- 

 ing and sipping, each making a mental estimate of the other. 



" Shall we have a game at cards ? or what shall we do to pass 

 the evenin' ? " at length asked our host. " Better have a game at 

 cards, p'raps," continued he. 



" Thank'ee, no ; thankee, no. I've a book in my pocket," 

 replied Sponge, diving into his jacket-pocket ; adding, as he fished 

 up his Mo<rg, " always carry a book of light reading about with 

 me." 



" What, you're a literary cove, are you ? " asked Facey, in a tone 

 of surprise. 



" Not exactly that,' ' replied Sponge ; " but I like to improve my 

 mind." He then opened the valuable work, taking a dip into the 

 Omnibus Guide — " Brentford, 7 from Hyde Park Corner — European 

 Coffee House, near the Bank, daily," and so worked his way on 

 through the " Brighton Railway Station, Brixton, Bromley both in 

 Kent and Middlesex, Bushey Heath, Camberwell, Camden Town, 

 and Carshalton," right into Cheam, when Facey, who had been eye- 

 ing him intently, not at all relishing his style of proceeding, and 

 wishing to be doing, suddenly exclaimed, as he darted up — 



" B-o-y Jove ! You've not heard me play the flute ! No more 

 you have. Dash it, how remiss ! " continued he, making for the lit- 

 tle book-shelf on which it lay ; adding, as he blew into it and sucked 

 the joints, " you're musical, of course ? " 



" Oh, I can stand music," muttered Sponge, with a jerk of his 

 head, as if a tune was neither here nor there with him. 



" By Jingo ! you should see me Oncle Gilroy when a'rm playin' ! 

 The old man act'ly sheds tears of delight — he's so pleased." 



" Indeed," replied Sponge, now passing on into Mogg's Cab 

 Fares — " Aldersgate Street, Hare Court, to or from Bagnigge- 

 Wells," and so on, when Facey struck up the most squeaking, dis- 

 cordant, broken-winded 



" Jump Jim Crow," 



that was ever heard, making the sensitive Sponge shudder, and set- 

 ting all his teeth on edge. 



" Hang me, but that flute of yours wants nitre, or a dose of 



