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Caingey would have censured his inhumanity, but knowing the imprudence of quarrelling with his bread and butter, and also aware of the laughable, drowned-rat figure he must then be cutting, he thought it best to laugh, and take his change out of Mr. Waffles another time.
'Can you tell me where I shall find Mr. Slowman? Answer. 'You'll find him at his lodgings, No. 15, Belvidere Terrace, till a quarter before seven. He's gone home to dress, to dine with Major and Mrs. Holdsworthy, at Grunton Villa, for I heard him order Jenkins's fly at that time. Caingey Thornton knew exactly when he would find Mr.
'He belonged to Lord Bullfrog, who didn't think him exactly up to his weight. 'Up to his weight! exclaimed Mr. Caingey Thornton, who had now ridden up on the other side of his great patron, 'why, he must be another Daniel Lambert. 'Rather so, replied Mr. Sponge; 'rides nineteen stun. 'What a monster! exclaimed Thornton, who was of the pocket order.
'You don't say so! exclaimed Sam Shortcut, who had been flattered into riding rather harder than he liked, and feared his pluck might be put to the test. Waffles, taking his cigar from his mouth as he sat on the bench, dressed as a racket-player, looking on at the game, 'he shalln't ride roughshod over us. 'That he shalln't! exclaimed Caingey Thornton, Mr.
'Hang him, interrupted Caingey Thornton, 'there are good men in all countries. 'So there are! exclaimed Mr. Spareneck, the steeple-chase rider. 'I've no notion of a fellow lording it, because he happens to come out of Leicestershire, rejoined Mr. Thornton. 'Nor I! exclaimed Mr. Spareneck. 'Why doesn't he stay in Leicestershire? asked Mr.
He was uncommonly well soaked, and had to be held up by the heels to let the water run out of his boots, pockets, and clothes. In this undignified position he was found by Mr. Waffles and such of the field as had ridden the line. 'Why, Caingey, old boy! you look like a boiled porpoise with parsley sauce! exclaimed Mr.
Caingey was not a pretty boy at the best of times none but the most partial parents could think him one and his clumsy-featured, short, compressed face, and thick, lumpy figure, were anything but improved by a sort of pea-green net-work of water-weeds with which he arose from his bath.
Caingey, grinning his coarse red face nearly double, and getting his horse well by the head, rams in the spurs, and flourishes his cutting whip high in air, with a 'g u u ur along! do you think I' the 'stole you' being lost under water just as Sponge clears the brook a little lower down. Spareneck then pulls up.
'A deuced fine horse he is, too, observed Caingey, in a louder key; adding, 'Sponge has the finest lot of horses of any man in England in the world, I may say. Mr. Sponge himself now rose from the breakfast table, and was speedily followed by Mr.
'You'll not think me impertinent, I hope, observed Caingey, in his most deferential style, to our hero when they met at the News'-room the next day 'you'll not think me impertinent, I hope; but I think you said as we rode home, yesterday, that you didn't altogether like the brown horse you were on? 'Did I? replied Mr. Sponge, with apparent surprise; 'I think you must have misunderstood me.
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