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'It's an ungenerous world, observed Sponge, 'and it's no use being abused for nothing. What sort of a genius is Pacey? Is he inclined to go the pace? 'Oh, quite, replied Jack; 'his great desire is to be thought a sportsman. 'A sportsman or a sporting man? asked Sponge. 'W-h-o-y! I should say p'raps a sportin' man more than the sportsman, replied Jack.
'W-h-o-y, ar thought you'd been a fox-hunter, observed Facey, seeing his guest's disconcerted look. 'Well, but bein' a fox-hunter won't enable one to sleep in a band-box, or to shut one's-self up like a telescope, retorted the indignant Sponge. ''Ord hang it, man! you're so nasty partickler, rejoined Facey; 'you're so nasty partickler. You'll never do to go out duck-shootin' i' your shirt.
'Oh w-h-o-y s'pose we say écarté? replied Facey, in an off-hand sort of way. 'Well, drawled Sponge, pocketing his Mogg, preparatory to action. 'You haven't a clean pack, have you? asked Sponge, as Facey, diving into a drawer, produced a very dirty, thumb-marked set. 'W-h-o-y, no, I haven't, replied Facey. 'W-h-o-y, no, I haven't: but, honour bright, these are all right and fair.
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