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Leather, with a saddle on his shoulder and a bridle in his hand. 'He'd better keep his whip quiet, observed Mr. Sponge, with a shake of his head, as he watched Pacey's movements. 'The beggar thinks he can ride anything, observed Jack. 'He'll find his mistake out just now, replied Sponge.
'Here's my half-crown, said a third, handing one across the table to the fortunate winner. A general settlement took place, in the midst of which the 'watch and appurts' were handed to Mr. Sponge. 'We'll drink Mr. Pacey's health, said Mr. Puffington, helping himself to a bumper, and passing the lately replenished decanters.
His father was a great spectacle-maker. You have heard of Pacey's spectacles? 'Can't say as how I have, replied Sponge, adding, 'they are more in your line than mine. The further consideration of the youth was interrupted by the entrance of a footman with hot water, who announced that dinner would be ready in half an hour. 'Who's there coming? asked Jack.
Toasting having commenced, as usual, it was proceeded with. Sponge's health followed that of Mr. Pacey's, Mr.
Pacey here challenges your horse Multum-in-somethin' I forget what you said you call him but the nag I rode to-day. The two then put, say half a crown or five shillin's each, into his hand, to which the arbitrator adds the same sum for himself. Pacey's horse gives Mr. Now do you understand? continued Jack, addressing himself earnestly to Sponge.
He began working the bridle and kicking his sides, to get him into a canter; an exertion that produced quite a contrary effect, for the animal slackened his pace as Pacey's efforts increased. When, however, he took his whip from under his arm, the horse darted right up into the air, and plunging down again, with one convulsive effort shot Mr.
Puffington passed the wine and gave as a toast 'Success to the handicap. 'Well, at length said Jack, having apparently struck a balance, 'hands in pocket, gen'lemen. If this is an award, Mr. Pacey's gold watch and appurts gives Mr. Sponge's chestnut horse seventy golden sovereigns. Show money, whispered Jack to Pacey, adding, 'I'll stand the shot.
In the tragedy of "Thorney Abbey, or the London Maid," 1662, 12mo., the prologue is delivered by a fool, who uses these words: "The poet's a fool who made the tragedy, to tell a story of a king and a court, and leave a fool out on't, when in Pacey's, and Sommer's, and Patche's, and Archer's times, my venerable predecessours, a fool was alwaies the principal verb."
Oh, that Pacey's wanting; always comes late, won't wait' so saying, or rather thinking, Mr. Puffington rang the bell and ordered dinner. Pacey then cast up. He was just the sort of swaggering youth that Jack had described; a youth who thought money would do everything in the world make him a gentleman, in short.
I forgot, replied Pacey, who did not like not to appear what he called 'fly. 'Well, then, I challenge your chestnut! exclaimed he, perking up, and shouting up the table to Sponge. 'Good! replied our friend. 'I challenge your watch and chain, then, looking at Pacey's chain-daubed vest. 'Name me arbitrator, muttered Jack, as he again stooped for his napkin. 'Who shall handicap us?
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