Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 80

'B-o-y Jove, what a night!' exclaimed Facey, as a blash of sleet dashed across the window as if some one had thrown a handful of pebbles against it. 'B-o-y Jove, what a night!' repeated he, rising and closing the shutters, and letting down the little scanty red curtain. 'Let us draw in and have a hot brew,' continued he, stirring the fire under the kettle, and handing a lot of cigars out of the table-drawer. They then sat smoking and sipping, and smoking and sipping, each making a mental estimate of the other.

'Shall we have a game at cards? or what shall we do to pa.s.s the evenin'?'

at length asked our host. 'Better have a game at cards, p'raps,' continued he.

'Thank'ee, no; thank'ee, no. I've a book in my pocket,' replied Sponge, diving into his jacket-pocket; adding, as he fished up his _Mogg_, 'always carry a book of light reading about with me.'

'What, you're a literary cove, are you?' asked Facey, in a tone of surprise.

'Not exactly that,' replied Sponge; 'but I like to improve my mind.' He then opened the valuable work, taking a dip into the Omnibus Guide--'Brentford, 7 from Hyde Park Corner--European Coffee House, near the Bank, daily,' and so worked his way on through the 'Brighton Railway Station, Brixton, Bromley both in Kent and Middles.e.x, Bushey Heath, Camberwell, Camden Town, and Carshalton,' right into Cheam, when Facey, who had been eyeing him intently, not at all relis.h.i.+ng his style of proceeding and wis.h.i.+ng to be doing, suddenly exclaimed, as he darted up:

[Ill.u.s.tration: FACEY ROMFORD TREATS SPONGE TO A LITTLE MUSIC]

'B-o-y Jove! You've not heard me play the flute! No more you have. Dash it, how remiss!' continued he, making for the little bookshelf on which it lay; adding, as he blew into it and sucked the joints, 'you're musical, of course?'

'Oh, I can stand music,' muttered Sponge, with a jerk of his head, as if a tune was neither here nor there with him.

'By Jingo! you should see me Oncle Gilroy when a'rm playin'! The old man act'ly sheds tears of delight--he's so pleased.'

'Indeed,' replied Sponge, now pa.s.sing on into _Mogg's Cab Fares_--'Aldersgate Street, Hare Court, to or from Bagnigge Wells,' and so on, when Facey struck up the most squeaking, discordant, broken-winded

'Jump Jim Crow'

that ever was heard, making the sensitive Sponge shudder, and setting all his teeth on edge.

'Hang me, but that flute of yours wants nitre, or a dose of physic, or something most dreadful!' at length exclaimed he, squeezing up his face as if in the greatest agony, as the laboured:

'Jump about and wheel about'

completely threw Sponge over in his calculation as to what he could ride from Aldgate Pump to the Pied Bull at Islington for.

'Oh no!' replied Facey, with an air of indifference, as he took off the end and jerked out the steam. 'Oh no--only wants work--only wants work,' added he, putting it together again, exclaiming, as he looked at the now sulky Sponge, 'Well, what shall it be?'

'Whatever you please,' replied our friend, dipping frantically into his _Mogg_.

'Well, then, I'll play you me oncle's favourite tune, "The Merry Swiss Boy,"' whereupon Facey set to most vigorously with that once most popular air. It, however, came off as rustily as 'Jim Crow,' for whose feats Facey evidently had a partiality; for no sooner did he get squeaked through 'me oncle's' tune than he returned to the n.i.g.g.e.r melody with redoubled zeal, and puffed and blew Sponge's calculations as to what he could ride from 'Mother Redcap's at Camden Town down Liquorpond Street, up Snow Hill, and so on, to the 'Angel' in Ratcliff Highway for, clean out of his head. Nor did there seem any prospect of relief, for no sooner did Facey get through one tune than he at the other again.

'Rot it!' at length exclaimed Sponge, throwing his _Mogg_ from him in despair, 'you'll deafen me with that abominable noise.' 'Bless my heart!'

exclaimed Facey, in well-feigned surprise, 'Bless my heart! Why, I thought you liked music, my dear feller!' adding, 'I was playin' to please you.'

'The deuce you were!' snapped Mr. Sponge. 'I wish I'd known sooner: I'd have saved you a deal of wind.'

'Why, my dear feller,' replied Facey, 'I wished to entertain you the best in my power. One must do somethin', you know.'

'I'd rather do anything than undergo that horrid noise,' replied Sponge, ringing his left ear with his forefinger.

'Let's have a game at cards, then,' rejoined Facey soothingly, seeing he had sufficiently agonized Sponge.

'Cards,' replied Mr. Sponge. 'Cards,' repeated he thoughtfully, stroking his hairy chin. 'Cards,' added he, for the third time, as he conned Facey's rotund visage, and wondered if he was a sharper. If the cards were fair, Sponge didn't care trying his luck. It all depended upon that. 'Well,' said he, in a tone of indifference, as he picked up his _Mogg_, thinking he wouldn't pay if he lost, 'I'll give you a turn. What shall it be?'

'Oh--w-h-o-y--s'pose we say _ecarte_?' 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. Wouldn't cheat a man, if it was ever so.'

'Sure you wouldn't,' replied Sponge, nothing comforted by the a.s.sertion.

They then resumed their seats opposite each other at the little table, with the hot water and sugar, and 'Fine London Spirit' bottle equitably placed between them.

At first Mr. Sponge was the victor, and by nine o'clock had scored eight-and-twenty s.h.i.+llings against his host, when he was inclined to leave off, alleging that he was an early man, and would go to bed--an arrangement that Facey seemed to come into, only pressing Sponge to accompany the gin he was now helping himself to with another cigar. This seemed all fair and reasonable; and as Sponge conned matters over, through the benign influence of the "baccy,' he really thought Facey mightn't be such a bad beggar after all.

'Well, then,' said he, as he finished cigar and gla.s.s together, 'if you'll give me eight-and-twenty bob, I'll be off to Bedfords.h.i.+re.'

'You'll give me my revenge surely!' exclaimed Facey, in pretended astonishment.

'To-morrow night,' replied Sponge firmly, thinking it would have to go hard with him if he remained there to give it.

'Nay, _now_!' rejoined Facey, adding, 'it's quite early. Me Oncle Gilroy and I always play much later at Queercove Hill.'

Sponge hesitated. If he had got the money, he would have refused point-blank; as it was, he thought, perhaps the only chance of getting it was to go on. With no small reluctance and misgivings he mixed himself another tumbler of gin and water, and, changing seats, resumed the game.

Nor was our discreet friend far wrong in his calculations, for luck now changed, and Facey seemed to have the king quite at command. In less than an hour he had not only wiped off the eight-and-twenty s.h.i.+llings, but had scored three pound fifteen against his guest. Facey would now leave off.

Sponge, on the other hand, wanted to go on. Facey, however, was firm. 'I'll cut you double or quits, then,' cried Sponge, in rash despair. Facey accommodated him and doubled the debt.

'Again!' exclaimed Sponge, with desperate energy.

'No! no more, thank ye,' replied Facey coolly. 'Fair play's a jewel.'

'So it is,' a.s.sented Mr. Sponge, thinking he hadn't had it.

'Now,' continued Facey, poking into the table-drawer and producing a dirty sc.r.a.p of paper, with a little pocket ink-case, 'if you'll give me an "I.O.U.," we'll shut up shop.'

'An "I.O.U.!"' retorted Sponge, looking virtuously indignant. 'An "I.O.U.!"

I'll give you your money i' the mornin'.'

'I know you will,' replied Facey coolly, putting himself in boxing att.i.tude, exclaiming, as he measured out a distance, 'just feel the biceps muscle of my arm--do believe I could fell an ox. However, never mind,'

continued he, seeing Sponge declined the feel. 'Life's uncertain: so you give me an "I.O.U." and we'll be all right and square. Short reckonin's make long friends, you know,' added he, pointing peremptorily to the paper.

'I'd better give you a cheque at once,' retorted Sponge, looking the very essence of chivalry.

'_Money_, if you please,' replied Facey; muttering, with a jerk of his head, 'don't like paper.'

The renowned Sponge, for once, was posed. He had the money, but he didn't like to part with it. So he gave the 'I.O.U.' and, lighting a twelve-to-the-pound candle, sulked off to undress and crawl into the little impossibility of a bed.

Night, however, brought no relief to our distinguished friend; for, little though the bed was, it was large enough to admit lodgers, and poor Sponge was nearly worried by the half-famished vermin, who seemed bent on making up for the long fast they had endured since the sixteen-hands-man left.

Worst of all, as day dawned, the eternal 'Jim Crow' recommenced his saltations, varied only with the:

'Come, arouse ye, arouse ye, my merry Swiss boy'