and
the lowering gloom was only enlivened by the occasional driving rush of the
tempest. Earth and sky were pretty much the same grey, damp, disagreeable
hue.

'Well,' said Sponge to himself, having gazed sufficiently on the uninviting
landscape, 'it's just as well it's not a hunting day--should have got
terribly soused. Must get through the time as well as I can--girls to talk
to--house to see. Hope I've brought my _Mogg_,' added he, turning to his
portmanteau, and diving for his _Ten Thousand Cab Fares_. Having found the
invaluable volume, his almost constant study, he then proceeded to array
himself in what he considered the most captivating apparel; a new
wide-sleeved dock-tail coatee, with outside pockets placed very low,
faultless drab trousers, a buff waistcoat, with a cream-coloured once-round
silk tie, secured by red cornelian cross-bars set in gold, for a pin. Thus
attired, with _Mogg_ in his pocket, he swaggered down to the
breakfast-room, which he hit off by means of listening at the doors till he
heard the sound of voices within.

Mrs. Jawleyford and the young ladies were all smiles and smirks, and there
were no symptoms of Miss Jawleyford's _hauteur_ perceptible. They all came
forward and shook hands with our friend most cordially. Mr. Jawleyford,
too, was all flourish and compliment; now tilting at the weather, now
congratulating himself upon having secured Mr. Sponge's society in the
house.

That leisurely meal of protracted ease, a country-house breakfast, being at
length accomplished, and the ladies having taken their departure, Mr.
Jawleyford looked out on the terrace, upon which the angry rain was beating
the standing water into bubbles, and observing that there was no chance of
getting out, asked Mr. Sponge if he could amuse himself in the house.

'Oh yes,' replied he, 'got a book in my pocket.'

'Ah, I suppose--the _New Monthly_, perhaps?' observed Mr. Jawleyford.

'No,' replied Sponge.

'Dizzey's _Life of Bentinck_, then, I dare say,' suggested Jawleyford;
adding, 'I'm reading it myself.'

'No, nor that either,' replied Sponge, with a knowing look; 'a much more
useful work, I assure you,' added he, pulling the little purple-backed
volume out of his pocket, and reading the gilt letters on the back:
'_Mogg's Ten Thousand Cab Fares_. Price one shilling!'

'Indeed,' exclaimed Mr. Jawleyford, 'well, I should never have guessed
that.'

'I dare say not,' replied Sponge, 'I dare say not, it's