manding some brandy.

'Sorry,' replied Spigot, pretending to be quite taken by surprise, 'very
sorry, sir--but, sir--master, sir--bed, sir--disturb him, sir.'

'Oh, dash it, never mind that!' exclaimed Jack; 'tell him Mr.
Sprag--Sprag--Spraggon' (the bottle of port beginning to make Jack rather
inarticulate)--'tell him Mr. Spraggon wants a little.'

'Dursn't disturb him, sir,' responded Spigot, with a shake of his head;
'much as my place, sir, is worth, sir.'

'Haven't you a little drop in your pantry, think you?' asked Sponge.

'The _cook_ perhaps has,' replied Mr. Spigot, as if it was quite out of his
line.

'Well, go and ask her,' said Sponge; 'and bring some hot water and things,
the same as we had last night, you know.'

Mr. Spigot retired, and presently returned, bearing a tray with
three-quarters of a bottle of brandy, which he impressed upon their minds
was the 'cook's _own_.'

'I dare say,' hiccuped Jack, holding the bottle up to the light.

'Hope she wasn't using it herself,' observed Sponge.

'Tell her we'll (hiccup) her health,' hiccuped Jack, pouring a liberal
potation into his tumbler.

'That'll be all you'll _do_, I dare say,' muttered Spigot to himself, as he
sauntered back to his pantry.

'Does Jaw stand smoking?' asked Jack, as Spigot disappeared.

'Oh, I should think so,' replied Sponge; 'a friend like you, I'm sure,
would be welcome'--Sponge thinking to indulge in a cigar, and lay the blame
on Jack.

'Well, if you think so,' said Jack, pulling out his cigar-case, or rather
his lordship's, and staggering to the chimney-piece for a match, though
there was a candle at his elbow, 'I'll have a pipe.'

'So'll I,' said Sponge, 'if you'll give me a cigar.' 'Much yours as mine,'
replied Jack, handing him his lordship's richly embroidered case with
coronets and ciphers on either side, the gift of one of the many would-be
Lady Scamperdales.

'Want a light!' hiccuped Jack, who had now got a glow-worm end to his.

'Thanks,' said Sponge, availing himself of the friendly overture.

Our friends now whiffed and puffed away together--whiffing and puffing
where whiffing and puffing had never been known before. The brandy began to
disappear pretty quickly; it was better than the wine.

'That's a n--n--nice--ish horse of yours,' stammered Jack, as he mixed
himself a second tumbler.

'Which?' asked Sponge.

'The bur--bur--brown,' spluttered Jack.

'He is _that_,' replied Sponge; 'best horse in t