osing
peal. Mr. Jogglebury sat wondering what was going to happen, and thinking
what a wigging he would get from Mrs. J. if he didn't manage to shake off
his friend. Above all, he recollected that they had nothing but haddocks
and hashed mutton for dinner.

'Tell Leather I want him,' said Mr. Sponge, in a tone of authority, as the
footman answered the summons; then, turning to his guest, as the man was
leaving the room, he said, 'Won't you take something after your drive--cold
meat, glass of sherry, soda-water, bottled porter--anything in that line?'

In an ordinary way, Jogglebury would have said, 'if you please,' at the
sound of the words 'cold meat,' for he was a dead hand at luncheon; but the
fix he was in completely took away his appetite, and he sat wheezing and
thinking whether to make another effort, or to wait the arrival of Leather.

Presently Leather appeared, jean-jacketed and gaitered, smoothing his hair
over his forehead, after the manner of the brotherhood.

'Leather,' said Mr. Sponge, in the same tone of importance, 'I'm going to
this gentleman's'; for as yet he had not sufficiently mastered the name to
be able to venture upon it in the owner's presence. 'Leather, I'm going to
this gentleman's, and I want you to bring me a horse over in the morning;
or stay,' said he, interrupting himself, and, turning to Jogglebury, he
exclaimed, 'I dare say you could manage to put me up a couple of horses,
couldn't you? and then we should be all cosy and jolly together, you know.'

''Pon my word,' gasped Jogglebury nearly choked by the proposal; ''pon my
word, I can hardly (puff) say, I hardly (wheeze) know, but if you'll
(puff--wheeze) allow me, I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll (puff--wheeze)
home, and see what I can (puff) do in the way of entertainment for
(puff--wheeze) man as well as for (puff--wheeze) horse.'

'Oh, _thank you_, my dear fellow!' exclaimed Sponge, seeing the intended
dodge; '_thank you_, my dear fellow!' repeated he; 'but that's giving you
too much trouble--_far_ too much trouble!--couldn't think of such a
thing--no, indeed, I couldn't. _I'll_ tell you what we'll do--_I'll_ tell
you what we'll do. You shall drive me over in that shandrydan-rattle-trap
thing of yours'--Sponge looking out of the window, as he spoke, at the
queer-shaped, jumped-together, lack-lustre-looking vehicle, with a
turnover seat behind, now in charge of a pepper-and-salt attired youth,
with a shabby hat, looped up by a thi