Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 59

Finding himself in the presence of his handsome hostess, Sponge made her one of his best bows, and offered to resign his seat in the carriage to her. This she declined, alleging that she had the children with her--looking round on the grinning, gaping group, the majority of them with their mouths smeared with lollipops. Crowdey, who was not so stupid as he looked, was nettled at Sponge's attempting to fix his wife upon him at such a critical moment, and immediately retaliated with, 'P'raps (puff) you'd like to (puff) out and (wheeze) walk.'

There was no help for this, and Sponge having alighted, Mr. Crowdey said, half to Mr. Sponge and half to his fine wife, 'Then (puff--wheeze) I'll just (puff) on and get Mr. (wheeze) Sponge's room ready.' So saying, he gave the old nag a hearty jerk with the bit, and two or three longitudinal cuts with the knotty-pointed whip, and jingled away with a bevy of children shouting, hanging on, and dragging behind, amidst exclamations from Mrs.

Crowdey, of 'O Anna Maria! Juliana Jane! O Frederick James, you naughty boy! you'll spoil your new shoes! Archibald John, you'll be kilt! you'll be run over to a certainty. O Jogglebury, you inhuman man!' continued she, running and brandis.h.i.+ng her alpaca parasol, 'you'll run over your children!

you'll run over your children!'

'My (puff) dear,' replied Jogglebury, looking coolly over his shoulder,'

how can they be (wheeze) run over behind?'

[Ill.u.s.tration]

So saying Jogglebury ground away at his leisure.

CHAPTER XLVI

PUDDINGPOTE BOWER, THE SEAT OF JOGGLEBURY CROWDEY, ESQ.

'Your good husband,' observed Mr. Sponge as he now overtook his hostess and proceeded with her towards the house, 'has insisted upon bringing me over to spend a few days till my friend Puffington recovers. He's just got the gout. I said I was 'fraid it mightn't be quite convenient to you, but Mr.

Crowdey a.s.sured me you were in the habit of receivin' fox-hunters at short notice; and so I have taken him at his word, you see, and come.'

Mrs. Jogglebury, who was still out of wind from her run after the carriage, a.s.sured him that she was extremely happy to see him, though she couldn't help thinking what a noodle Jog was to bring a stranger on a was.h.i.+ng-day.

That, however, was a point she would reserve for Jog.

Just then a loud outburst from the children announced the approach of the eighth wonder of the world, in the person of Gustavus James in the nurse's arms, with a curly blue feather nodding over his nose. Mrs. Jogglebury's black eyes brightened with delight as she ran forward to meet him; and in her mind's eye she saw him inheriting a splendid mansion, with a retinue of powdered footmen in pea-green liveries and broad gold-laced hats.

Great--prospectively great, at least--as had been her successes in the sponsor line with her other children, she really thought, getting Mr.

Sponge for a G.o.d-papa for Gustavus James eclipsed all her other doings.

Mr. Sponge, having been liberal in his admiration of the other children, of course could not refuse unbounded applause to the evident object of a mother's regards; and, chucking the young gentleman under his double chin, asked him how he was, and said something about something he had in his 'box,' alluding to a paper of cheap comfits he had bought at Sugarchalk's, the confectioner's, sale in Oxford Street, and which he carried about for contingencies like the present. This pleased Mrs. Crowdey--looking, as she thought, as if he had come predetermined to do what she wanted. Amidst praises and stories of the prodigy, they reached the house.

If a 'hall' means a house with an entrance-'hall,' Puddingpote Bower did not aspire to be one. A visitor dived, _in medias res_, into the pa.s.sage at once. In it stood an oak-cased family clock, and a large gla.s.s-case, with an alarming-looking, stuffed tiger-like cat, on an imitation marble slab.

Underneath the slab, indeed all about the pa.s.sage, were scattered children's hats and caps, hoops, tops, spades, and mutilated toys--spotted horses without heads, soldiers without arms, windmills without sails, and wheelbarrows without wheels. In a corner were a bunch of 'gibbeys' in the rough, and alongside the weather-gla.s.s hung Jog's formidable flail of a hunting-whip.

Mr. Sponge found his portmanteau standing bolt upright in the pa.s.sage, with the bag alongside of it, just as they had been chucked out of the phaeton by Bartholomew Badger, who, having got orders to put the horse right, and then to put himself right to wait at dinner, Mr. Jogglebury proceeded to vociferate:

'Murry Ann!--Murry Ann!' in such a way that Mary Ann thought either that the cat had got young Crowdey, or the house was on fire. 'Oh! Murry Ann!'

exclaimed Mr. Jogglebury, as she came darting into the pa.s.sage from the back settlements, up to the elbows in soap-suds; 'I want you to (puff) upstairs with me, and help to get my (wheeze) gibbey-sticks out of the best room; there's a (puff) gentleman coming to (wheeze) here.'

'Oh, indeed, sir,' replied Mary Ann, smiling, and dropping down her sleeves--glad to find it was no worse.

They then proceeded upstairs together.

All the gibbey-sticks were bundled out, both the finished ones, that were varnished and laid away carefully in the wardrobe, and those that were undergoing surgical treatment, in the way of twistings, and bendings, and tyings in the closets. As they routed them out of hole and corner, Jogglebury kept up a sort of running recommendation to mercy, mingled with an inquiry into the state of the household affairs.

'Now (puff), Murry Ann!' exclaimed he; 'take care you don't scratch that (puff) Franky Burdett,' handing her a highly varnished oak stick, with the head of Sir Francis for a handle; 'and how many (gasp) haddocks d'ye say there are in the house?'

'Three, sir,' replied Mary Ann.

'Three!' repeated he, with an emphasis. 'I thought your (gasp) missus told me there were but (puff) two; and, Murry Ann, you must put the new (puff) quilt on the (gasp) bed, and (puff) just look under it (gasp) and you'll find the (puff) old Truro rolled up in a dirty (puff) pocket hankercher; and, Murry Ann, d'ye think the new (wheeze) purtaters came that I bought of (puff) Billy Bloxom? If so, you'd better (puff) some for dinner, and get the best (wheeze) decanters out; and, Murry Ann, there are two gibbeys on the (puff) surbase at the back of the bed, which you may as well (puff) away. Ah! here he is,' added Mr. Jogglebury, as Mr. Sponge's voice rose now from the pa.s.sage into the room above.

Things now looked pretty promising. Mr. Sponge's attentions to the children generally, and to Gustavus James in particular, coupled with his free-and-easy mode of introducing himself, made Mrs. Crowdey feel far more at her ease with regard to entertaining him than she would have done if her neighbour, Mr. Makepeace, or the Rev. Mr. Facey himself, had dropped in to take 'pot luck,' as they called it. With either of these she would have wished to appear as if their every-day form was more in accordance with their company style, whereas Jog and she wanted to get something out of Mr.

Sponge, instead of electrifying him with their grandeur. That Gustavus James was destined for greatness she had not the least doubt. She began to think whether it might not be advisable to call him Gustavus James Sponge.

Jog, too, was comforted at hearing there were three haddocks, for though hospitably inclined, he did not at all like the idea of being on short commons himself. He had sufficient confidence in Mrs. Jogglebury's management--especially as the guest was of her own seeking--to know that she would make up a tolerable dinner.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Nor was he out of his reckoning, for at half-past five Bartholomew announced dinner, when in sailed Mrs. Crowdey fresh from the composition of it and from the becoming revision of her own dress. Instead of the loose, flowing, gipsified, stunner tartan of the morning, she was attired in a close-fitting French grey silk, showing as well the fulness and whiteness of her exquisite bust, as the beautiful formation of her arms. Her raven hair was ably parted and flattened on either side of her well-shaped head.

Sponge felt proud of the honour of having such a fine creature on his arm, and kicked about in his tights more than usual.

The dinner, though it might show symptoms of hurry, was yet plentiful and good of its kind; and if Bartholomew had not been always getting in Murry Ann's way, would have been well set on and served. Jog quaffed quant.i.ties of foaming bottled porter during the progress of it, and threw himself back in his chair at the end, as if thoroughly overcome with his exertions.

Scarcely were the wine and dessert set on, ere a violent outbreak in the nursery caused Mrs. Crowdey to hurry away, leaving Mr. Sponge to enjoy the company of her husband.

'You'll drink (puff) fox-hunting, I s'pose,' observed Jog after a pause, helping himself to a b.u.mper of port and pa.s.sing the bottle to Sponge.

'With all my heart,' replied our hero, filling up.

'Fine (puff, wheeze) amus.e.m.e.nt,' observed Mr. Crowdey, with a yawn after another pause, and beating the devil's tattoo upon the table to keep himself awake.

'Very,' replied Mr. Sponge, wondering how such a thick-winded chap as Jog managed to partake of it.

'Fine (puff, wheeze) appetizer,' observed Jogglebury, after another pause.

'It is,' replied Mr. Sponge.

Presently Jog began to snore, and as the increasing melody of his nose gave little hopes of returning animation, Mr. Sponge had recourse to his old friend _Mogg_ and amidst speculations as to time and distances, managed to finish the port. We will now pa.s.s to the next morning.

Whatever deficiency there might be at dinner was amply atoned for at breakfast, which was both good and abundant; bread and cake of all sorts, eggs, m.u.f.fins, toast, honey, jellies, and preserves without end. On the side-table was a dish of hot kidneys and a magnificent red home-fed ham.

But a greater treat far, as Mrs. Jogglebury thought, was in the guests set around. There were arranged all her tulips in succession, beginning with that greatest of all wonders, Gustavus James, and running on with Anna Maria, Frederick John, Juliana Jane, Margaret Henrietta, Sarah Amelia, down to Peter William, the heir, who sat next his pa. These formed a close line on the side of the table opposite the fire, that side being left for Mr.

Sponge. All the children had clean pinafores on, and their hairs plastered according to nursery regulation. Mr. Sponge's appearance was a signal for silence, and they all sat staring at him in mute astonishment. Baby, Gustavus James, did more; for after reconnoitring him through a sort of lattice window formed of his fingers, he whined out, 'Who's that ogl-e-y man, ma?' amidst the t.i.tter of the rest of the line.

'Hus.h.!.+ my dear,' exclaimed Mrs. Crowdey, hoping Mr. Sponge hadn't heard.

But Gustavus James was not to be put down, and he renewed the charge as his mamma began pouring out the tea.

'Send that ogl-e-y man away, ma!' whined he, in a louder tone, at which all the children burst out a-laughing.

'Baby (puff), Gustavus! (wheeze),' exclaimed Jog, knocking with the handle of his knife against the table, and frowning at the prodigy.

'Well, pa, he _is_ a ogl-e-y man,' replied the child, amid the ill-suppressed laughter of the rest.

'Ah, but what have _I_ got!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, producing a gaudily done-up paper of comfits from his pocket, opening and distributing the unwholesome contents along the line, stopping the orator's mouth first with a great, red-daubed, almond comfit.

Breakfast was then proceeded with without further difficulty. As it drew to a close, and Mr. Sponge began nibbling at the sweets instead of continuing his attack on the solids, Mrs. Jogglebury began eyeing and telegraphing her husband.

'Jog, my dear,' said she, looking significantly at him, and then at the egg-stand, which still contained three eggs.

'Well, my dear,' replied Jog, with a vacant stare, pretending not to understand.