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Hobler was ready for him to ride over on; Sponge wasn't inclined to shoot, but begged Facey wouldn't stay at home on his account.
Facey would now leave off. Sponge, on the other hand, wanted to go on. Facey, however, was firm. 'I'll cut you double or quits, then, cried Sponge, in rash despair. Facey accommodated him and doubled the debt. 'Again! exclaimed Sponge, with desperate energy. 'No! no more, thank ye, replied Facey coolly. 'Fair play's a jewel. 'So it is, assented Mr. Sponge, thinking he hadn't had it.
Facey, having the apparently inexhaustible sum of a thousand pounds, began life as a fox-hunter in a very small way, to be sure more for the purpose of selling horses than anything else; but, having succeeded in 'doing' all the do-able gentlemen, both with the 'Tip and Go' and Cranerfield hounds, his occupation was gone, it requiring an extended field such as our friend Sponge roamed to carry on cheating in horses for any length of time.
'You be ! growled Mr. Sponge, in disgust. 'Breakfast in half an hour! resumed Facey. 'Pigs'-puddin's and sarsingers all 'ot pipin' 'ot! continued our host. 'Wish you were pipin' 'ot, growled Mr. Sponge, as he jerked himself out of his little berth.
Hobler, but who Facey kindly rechristened the 'Nonpareil, which the now rising price of oats, and falling state of his finances, made him particularly anxious to get rid of, ere the horse performed the equestrian feat of 'eating its head off. He was a very hunter-like looking horse, but his misfortune consisted in having such shocking seedy toes, that he couldn't keep his shoes on.
Gilroy, of Queercove Hill, a great cattle-jobber, with a 'small independence of his own' three hundred a year, perhaps, which a kind world called six Facey thought he would just hang about until his uncle was done with his shoes, and then be lord of Queercove Hill.
'What, you're a literary cove, are you? asked Facey, in a tone of surprise. '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 little bookshelf on which it lay; adding, as he blew into it and sucked the joints, 'you're musical, of course?
Gilroy, however, being as knowing as 'his nevvey, as he called him, just encouraged Facey in his shooting, fishing, and idle propensities generally, doubtless finding it more convenient to have his fish and game for nothing than to pay for them.
That he was a man of enterprise, we need hardly add, when he had formed a scheme for doing our Sponge a man that we do not think any of our readers would trouble themselves to try a 'plant' upon. This impudent Facey, as if in contradiction of terms, was originally intended for a civil engineer; but having early in life voted himself heir to his uncle, Mr.
How gratefully Sponge's inquiry if he knew Mr. Romford fell on his ear, as they sat moodily together after dinner over some very low-priced port. Know Charley Romford Facey, as they call him. Gilroy, of Queercove Hill. 'Just so, rejoined Sponge, 'just so; that's the man stout, square-built fellow, with backward-growing whiskers. I'm going to stay with him to shoot at old Gil's.
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