whole three hundred and sixty-five days in the year, he could not have hit
upon a more inconvenient one for him. Besides, he had no idea of people
writing in that sort of a way, saying they were coming, without giving him
the chance of saying no. 'Well, but, my dear, I dare say you asked him,'
observed Mrs. Jawleyford.

Jawleyford was silent, the scene in the billiard-room recurring to his
mind.

'I've often told you, my dear,' continued Mrs. Jawleyford, kindly, 'that
you shouldn't be so free with your invitations if you don't want people to
come; things are very different now to what they were in the old coaching
and posting days, when it took a day and a night and half the next day to
get here, and I don't know how much money besides. You might then invite
people with safety, but it is very different now, when they have nothing to
do but put themselves into the express train and whisk down in a few
hours.'

'Well, but, confound him, I didn't ask his horses,' exclaimed Jawleyford;
'nor will I have them either,' continued he, with a jerk of the head, as he
got up and rang the bell, as though determined to put a stop to that at all
events.

'Samuel,' said he, to the dirty page of a boy who answered the summons,
'tell John Watson to go down to the Railway Tavern directly, and desire
them to get a three-stalled stable ready for a gentleman's horses that are
coming to-day--a gentleman of the name of Sponge,' added he, lest any one
else should chance to come and usurp them--'and tell John to meet the
express train, and tell the gentleman's groom where it is.'

CHAPTER XIV

JAWLEYFORD COURT

True to a minute, the hissing engine drew the swiftly gliding train beneath
the elegant and costly station at Lucksford--an edifice presenting a rare
contrast to the wretched old red-tiled, five-windowed house, called the Red
Lion, where a brandy-faced blacksmith of a landlord used to emerge from
the adjoining smithy, to take charge of any one who might arrive per coach
for that part of the country. Mr. Sponge was quickly on the platform,
seeing to the detachment of his horse-box.

Just as the cavalry was about got into marching order, up rode John Watson,
a ragamuffin-looking gamekeeper, in a green plush coat, with a very
tarnished laced hat, mounted on a very shaggy white pony, whose hide seemed
quite impervious to the visitations of a heavily-knotted dogwhip, with
which he kept saluting his shoulders and sides.

'P