t was fortunate for Mr. Sponge that he went, for, when Jawleyford smelt
the indignity that had been offered to his dining-room, he broke out in
such a torrent of indignation as would have been extremely unpleasant if
there had not been some one to lay the blame on. Indeed, he was not
particularly gracious to Mr. Sponge as it was; but that arose as much from
certain dark hints that had worked their way from the servants' hall into
'my lady's chamber' as to our friend's pecuniary resources and prospects.
Jawleyford began to suspect that Sponge might not be quite the great
'catch' he was represented.

Beyond, however, putting a few searching questions--which Mr. Sponge
skilfully parried--advising his daughters to be cautious, lessening the
number of lights, and lowering the scale of his entertainments generally,
Mr. Jawleyford did not take any decided step in the matter. Mr. Spraggon
comforted Lord Scamperdale with the assurance that Amelia had no idea of
Sponge, who he made no doubt would very soon be out of the country--and his
lordship went to church and prayed most devoutly for him to go.

CHAPTER XXVI

MR. AND MRS. SPRINGWHEAT

'Lord Scamperdale's foxhounds meet on Monday at Larkhall Hill,'
&c. &c.--_County Paper_.

The Flat Hat Hunt had relapsed into its wonted quiet, and 'Larkhall Hill'
saw none but the regular attendants, men without the slightest particle of
curve in their hats--hats, indeed, that looked as if the owners sat upon
them when they hadn't them on their heads. There was Fyle, and Fossick, and
Blossomnose, and Sparks, and Joyce, and Capon, and Dribble, and a few
others, but neither Washball nor Puffington, nor any of the holiday birds.

[Illustration: HIS LORDSHIP HAS IT ALL TO HIMSELF]

Precisely at ten, my lord, and his hounds, and his huntsman, and his whips,
and his Jack, trotted round Farmer Springwheat's spacious back premises,
and appeared in due form before the green rails in front. 'Pride attends us
all,' as the poet says; and if his lordship had ridden into the yard, and
halloaed out for a glass of home-brewed, Springwheat would have trapped
every fox on his farm, and the blooming Mrs. Springwheat would have had an
interminable poultry-bill against the hunt; whereas, simply by 'making
things pleasant'--that is to say, coming to breakfast--Springwheat saw his
corn trampled on, nay, led the way over it himself, and Mrs. Springwheat
saw her Dorkings disappear without a murmu