mr. sponge's sporting tour. 371 



" Now," continued Facey, poking into the table-drawer and pro- 

 ducing a dirty scrap of paper, with a little pocket ink-case, " if you'll 

 give me an ' I.O.U.,' we'll shut up shop." 



"An 'I.O.U!'" retorted Sponge, looking virtuously indignant. 

 " An i I.O.U ! ' I'll give you your money i' the mornin'." 



" I know you will," replied Facey, coolly, putting himself in 

 boxing attitude, exclaiming, as he measured out a distance, "just 

 feel the biceps muscle of my arm — do believe I could fell an ox. 

 However, never mind," continued he, seeing Sponge declined the 

 feel. "Life's uncertain: so you give me an l I.O.U.,' and we'll be 

 all right and square. Short reckonin's make long friends, you 

 know," added he, pointing peremptorily to the paper. 



" I'd better give you a cheque at once," retorted Sponge, looking 

 the very essence of chivalry. 



"Money, if you please," rejtlied Facey; muttering, with a jerk 

 of his head, " donH like paper.' 1 ' 1 



The renowned Sponge, for once, was posed. He had the money, 

 but he didn't like to part with it. So he gave the ' I.O.U.,' and, 

 lighting a twelve-to-the-pound candle, sulked off to undress and crawl 

 into the little impossibility of a bed. 



Night, however, brought no relief to our distinguished friend ; 

 for, little though the bed was, it was large enough to admit lodgers, 

 and poor Sponge was nearly worried by the half-famished vermin, 

 who seemed bent on making up for the long fast they had endured 

 since the sixteen-hands-man left. Worst of all, as day dawned, the 

 eternal " Jim Crow " recommenced his saltations, varied only with 

 the ' 



" Come, arouse ye, arouse ye, my meny Swiss boy " 



of "me Oncle Gilroy." 



'' Well, dash my buttons ! " groaned Sponge, as the discordant 

 noise shot through his aching head, " but this is the worst spec I 

 ever made in my life. Fed on pork, fluted deaf, bit with bugs, and 

 robbed at cards — fairly, downrightly robbed. Never was a more 

 reg'ler plant put on a man. Thank goodness, however, I haven't 

 paid him — never will, either. Such a confounded, disreputable 

 scoundrel deserves to be punished — big, bad, blackguard-looking 

 fellow ! How the deuce I could ever be taken in by such a fellow ! 

 Believe he's nothing but a great poaching blackleg. Hasn't the 

 faintest outlines of a gentleman about him — not the slightest particle 

 — not the remotest glimmerin'." 



These and similar reflections were interrupted by a great thump 

 against the thin lath-and-plaster wall that separated their rooms, or 

 rather closets, accompanied by an exclamation of — 



" Halloo, old boy ! now goes it ? " — an inquiry to which our 

 friend deigned no answer. 



