ng that a man was
entitled to 5_l._ per cent. as of right, and as much more as he could get.

It was not often that Jack got a 'bite' at my lord, which, perhaps, made
him think it the more incumbent on him not to miss an opportunity. Having
been told, of course he knew exactly the style of man he had to deal with
in Mr. Sponge--a style of men of whom there is never any difficulty in
asking if they will sell their horses, price being the only consideration.
They are, indeed, a sort of unlicensed horse-dealers, from whose presence
few hunts are wholly free. Mr. Spraggon thought if he could get Sponge to
make it worth his while to get my lord to buy his horses, the--whatever he
might get--would come in very comfortably to pay his Christmas bills.

By the time the bottle drew to a close, our friends were rather better
friends, and seemed more inclined to fraternize. Jack had the advantage of
Sponge, for he could stare, or rather squint, at him without Sponge knowing
it. The pint of wine apiece--at least, as near a pint apiece as Spigot
could afford to let them have--somewhat strung Jack's nerves as well as his
eyes, and he began to show more of the pupils and less of the whites than
he did. He buzzed the bottle with such a hearty good will as settled the
fate of another, which Sponge rang for as a matter of course. There was but
the rejected one, which, however. Spigot put into a different decanter, and
brought in with such an air as precluded either of them saying a word in
disparagement of it.

'Where are the hounds next week?' asked Sponge, sipping away at it.

'Monday, Larkhall Hill; Tuesday, the cross-roads by Dallington Burn;
Thursday, the Toll-bar at Whitburrow Green; Saturday, the kennels,' replied
Jack.

'Good places?' asked Sponge.

'Monday's good,' replied Jack; 'draw Thorney Gorse--sure find; second draw,
Barnlow Woods, and home by Loxley, Padmore, and so on.'

'What sort of a place is Tuesday?'

'Tuesday?' repeated Jack. 'Tuesday! Oh, that's the cross-roads. Capital
place, unless the fox takes to Rumborrow Craigs, or gets into Seedywood
Forest, when there's an end of it--at least, an end of everything except
pulling one's horse's legs off in the stiff clayey rides. It's a long way
from here, though,' observed Jack.

'How far?' asked Sponge.

'Good twenty miles,' replied Jack. 'It's sixteen from us; it'll be a good
deal more from here.'

'His lordship will lay out overnight, then?' observed Sponge.