Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 79

'Cedars!' hiccuped Sir Harry, 'where do you see any cedars?'

'Why there,' replied Miss Glitters, nodding towards a clump of evergreens.

'Those are (hiccup) hollies,' replied Sir Harry.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

'Well, under the hollies,' rejoined Miss Glitters; adding, 'it was Captain Bouncey who said they were cedars.'

'Ah, I meant those beyond,' observed the captain, nodding in another direction.

'Those are (hiccup) Scotch firs,' rejoined Sir Harry.

'Well, never mind what they are,' resumed the lady; 'let us have a dance under them.'

'Certainly,' replied Sir Harry, who was always ready for anything. 'We shall have plenty of partners,' observed Miss Howard, recollecting how many men there were in the house.

'And another coming,' observed Captain Cut.i.tfat, still fretting at the idea.

'Indeed!' exclaimed Miss Howard, raising her hands and eyebrows in delight; 'and who is he?' asked she, with unfeigned glee.

'Oh such a (hiccup) swell,' replied Sir Harry; 'reg'lar Leicesters.h.i.+re man.

A (hiccup) Quornite, in fact.'

'We'll not have the dance till he comes, then,' observed Miss Glitters.

'No more we will,' said Miss Howard, withdrawing from the group.

CHAPTER LX

FACEY ROMFORD AT HOME

We will now suppose our distinguished Sponge entering the village, or what the natives call the town of Was.h.i.+ngforde, towards the close of a short December day, on his arrival from Mr. Jog's.

'What sort of stables are there?' asked he, reining up his hack, as he encountered the brandy-nosed Leather airing himself on the main street.

'Stables be good enough--forage, too,' replied the stud groom--'_per_-wided you likes the sittivation.'

'Oh, the sittivation 'll be good enough,' retorted Sponge, thinking that, groom-like, Leather was grumbling because he hadn't got the best stables.

'Well, sir, as you please,' replied the man.

'Why, where are they?' asked Sponge, seeing there was more in Leather's manner than met the eye.

'_Rose and Crown!_' replied Leather, with an emphasis.

'Rose and Crown!' exclaimed Sponge, starting in his saddle; 'Rose and Crown! Why, I'm going to stay with Mr. Romford!'

'So he said.' replied Leather; 'so he said. I met him as I com'd in with the osses, and said he to me, said he, "You'll find captle quarters at the Crown!"' 'The deuce!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, dropping the reins on his hack's neck; 'the deuce!' repeated he with a look of disgust. 'Why, where does he live?'

"Bove the saddler's, thonder,' replied Leather, nodding to a small bow-windowed white house a little lower down, with the gilt-lettered words:

OVEREND, SADDLER AND HARNESS-MAKER TO THE QUEEN,

above a very meagrely stocked shop.

'The devil!' replied Mr. Sponge, boiling up as he eyed the cottage-like dimensions of the place.

The dialogue was interrupted by a sledge-hammer-like blow on Sponge's back, followed by such a proffered hand as could proceed from none but his host.

'Glad to see ye!' exclaimed Facey, swinging Sponge's arm to and fro. 'Get off!' continued he, half dragging him down, 'and let's go in; for it's beastly cold, and dinner'll be ready in no time!'

So saying, he led the captive Sponge down street, like a prisoner, by the arm, and, opening the thin house-door, pushed him up a very straight staircase into a little low cabin-like room, hung with boxing-gloves, foils, and pictures of fighters and ballet girls.

'Glad to see ye!' again said Facey, poking the diminutive fire. 'Axed Nosey Nickel and Gutty Weazel to meet you,' continued he, looking at the little 'dinner-for-two' table; 'but Nosey's gone wrong in a tooth, and Gutty's away sweetheartin'. However, we'll be very cosy and jolly together; and if you want to wash your hands, or anything afore dinner, I'll show you your bedroom,' continued he, backing Sponge across the staircase landing to where a couple of little black doors opened into rooms, formed by dividing what had been the duplicate of the sitting-room into two.

'There!' exclaimed Facey, pointing to Sponge's portmanteau and bag, standing midway between the window and door: 'There! there are your traps.

Yonder's the washhand-stand. You can put your shavin'-things on the chair below the lookin'-gla.s.s 'gainst the wall,' pointing to a fragment of gla.s.s nailed against the stencilled wall, all of which Sponge stood eyeing with a mingled air of resignation and contempt; but when Facey pointed to:

'The chest, contrived a double debt to pay-- A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day'

and said that was where Sponge would have to curl himself up, our friend shook his head, and declared he could not.

'Oh, fiddle!' replied Facey, 'Jack Weatherley slept in it for months, and he's half a hand higher than you--sixteen hands, if he's an inch.' And Sponge jerked his head and bit his lips, thinking he was 'done' for once.

'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 s.h.i.+rt.

Dash it, man! Oncle Gilroy would disinherit me if ar was such a chap.

However, look sharp,' continued he, 'if you are goin' to clean yourself; for dinner 'll be ready in no time, indeed, I hear Mrs. End dis.h.i.+n' it up.'

So saying, Facey rolled out of the room, and Sponge presently heard him pulling off his clogs of shoes in the adjoining one. Dinner spoke for itself, for the house reeked with the smell of fried onions and roast pork.

Now, Sponge didn't like pork; and there was nothing but pork, or pig in one shape or another. Spare ribs, liver and bacon, sausages, black puddings, &c.--all very good in their way, but which came with a bad grace after the comforts of Jog's, the elegance of Puffington's, and the early splendour of Jawleyford's. Our hero was a good deal put out, and felt as if he was imposed upon. What business had a man like this to ask him to stay with him--a man who dined by daylight, and ladled his meat with a great two-p.r.o.nged fork?

Facey, though he saw Mr. Sponge wasn't pleased, praised and pressed everything in succession down to a very strong cheese; and as the slip-shod girl whisked away crumbs and all in the coa.r.s.e tablecloth, he exclaimed in a most open-hearted air, 'Well, now, what shall we have to drink?' adding, 'You smoke, of course--shall it be gin, rum, or Hollands--Hollands, rum, or gin?'

Sponge was half inclined to propose wine, but recollecting what sloe-juice sort of stuff it was sure to be, and that Facey, in all probability, would make him finish it, he just replied, 'Oh, I don't care; 'spose we say gin?'

'Gin be it,' said Facey, rising from his seat, and making for a little closet in the wall, he produced a bottle labelled 'Fine London Spirit'; and, hallooing to the girl to get a few 'Captins' out of the box under his bed, he scattered a lot of gla.s.ses about the table, and placed a green dessert-dish for the biscuits against they came.

Night had now closed in--a keen, boisterous, wintry night, making the pocketful of coals that ornamented the grate peculiarly acceptable.