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The fact was, Sponge meditated a bolt, and was in close confab with Leather, in the Rose and Crown stables, arranging matters, when the sound of his name in the yard caused him to look out, when oh, welcome sight! a Puddingpote Bower messenger put Sir Harry's note in his hand, which had at length arrived at Jog's through their very miscellaneous transit, called a post.
Sponge; adding, as he tendered his hand, 'the best friends must part, you know. 'Thankee, replied Mr. Sponge, making a parting bow; 'I'll get him at the stable. 'I'll go with you, said Jog, leading the way. Leather had saddled, and bridled, and turned him round in the stall, with one of Mr. Jog's blanket-rugs on, which Mr. Sponge just swept over his tail into the manger, and led the horse out.
Jog, however, was very determined; rather too much so, indeed, for she awakened Jog's jealousy, who lay tossing and tumbling about all through the night. He was up very early, and as Mrs. Jog was falling into a comfortable nap, she was aroused by his well-known voice hallooing as loud as he could in the middle of the entrance-passage.
'Close by, as most of our sporting readers well know to their cost, is generally anything but close by. Nor was Jog's close by, close by on this occasion. Just as Mr.
Well, well, I daresay it's comfortable enough; so the sun shines in mornin's, thet's the most I care for. You'll make any kind o' house pooty to look at inside, an' I reckon we needn't roost on the fences outside, a-lookin' at it, any more'n we choose to. It does look, for all the world though, like 'Bijah Jenkins's old yaller barn; 'n' thet there jog's jest the way he jined on his cow-shed.
'We'll not have the dance till he comes, then, observed Miss Glitters. 'No more we will, said Miss Howard, withdrawing from the group. We will now suppose our distinguished Sponge entering the village, or what the natives call the town of Washingforde, towards the close of a short December day, on his arrival from Mr. Jog's.
On the afternoon of the fifth day, as he was taking a solitary stroll about the country, having about made up his mind to be off to town, just as he was crossing Jog's buttercup meadow on his way to the stable, a rapid bang! bang! caused him to start, and, looking over the hedge, he saw a brawny-looking sportsman in brown reloading his gun, with a brace of liver-and-white setters crouching like statues in the stubble.
In a corner were a bunch of 'gibbeys' in the rough, and alongside the weather-glass hung Jog's formidable flail of a hunting-whip. Mr.
Jog's charms, nor the voluble enunciation of 'Obin and Ichard, followed by 'Bah, bah, black sheep, &c, from that wonderful boy, Gustavus James, mend matters; for the young rogue having been in Mr. Sponge's room while Murry Ann was doing it out, had torn the back off Sponge's Mogg, and made such a mess of his tooth-brush, by cleaning his shoes with it, as never was seen. Mr.
Paul's Churchyard, waiting for the three o'clock bus, coming from the Bank to take him to Isleworth Gate. Jog's bellow to 'Bartholo m e w' interrupted the journey, just as in imagination Mr. Sponge was putting his foot on the wheel and hallooing to the driver to hand him the strap to help him on to the box. 'Will he? said Mr.
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