y tossing and tumbling about all through the
night.

He was up very early, and as Mrs. Jog was falling into a comfortable nap,
she was aroused by his well-known voice hallooing as loud as he could in
the middle of the entrance-passage.

'BARTHOLO-_me-e-w!_' the last syllable being pronounced or
prolonged like a mew of a cat. 'BARTHOLO-_me-e-w!_' repeated he,
not getting an answer to the first shout.

'MURRY ANN!' shouted he, after another pause.

'MURRY ANN!' exclaimed he, still louder.

Just then, the iron latch of a door at the top of the house opened, and a
female voice exclaimed hurriedly over the banisters:

'Yes, sir! here, sir! comin' sir! comin'!'

'Oh, Murry Ann (puff), that's (wheeze) you, is it?' asked Jog, still
speaking at the top of his voice.

'Yes, sir,' replied Mary Ann.

'Oh! then, Murry Ann, I wanted to (puff)--that you'd better get the (puff)
breakfast ready early. I think Mr. (gasp)--Sponge will be (wheezing) away
to-day.'

'Yes, sir,' replied Mary Ann.

All this was said in such a tone as could not fail to be heard all over the
house; certainly into Mr. Sponge's room, which was midway between the
speakers.

What prevented Mr. Sponge wheezing away, will appear in the next chapter.

CHAPTER L

SIR HARRY SCATTERCASH'S HOUNDS

[Illustration]

The reason Mr. Sponge did not take his departure, after the pretty
intelligible hint given by his host, was that, as he was passing his
shilling army razor over his soapy chin, he saw a stockingless lad, in a
purply coat and faded hunting-cap, making his way up to the house, at a
pace that betokened more than ordinary vagrancy. It was the kennel, stable,
and servants' hall courier of Nonsuch House, come to say that Sir Harry
hunted that day.

Presently Mr. Leather knocked at Mr. Sponge's bedroom door, and, being
invited in, announced the fact.

'Sir 'Arry's 'ounds 'unt,' said he, twisting the door handle as he spoke.

'What time?' asked Mr. Sponge, with his half-shaven face turned towards
him.

'Meet at eleven,' replied Leather.

'Where?' inquired Mr. Sponge.

'Nonsuch House, 'bout nine miles off.'

It was thirteen, but Mr. Leather heard the malt liquor was good and wanted
to taste it.

'Take on the brown, then,' said Mr. Sponge, quite pompously;' and tell
Bartholomew to have the hack at the door at ten--or say a quarter to. Tell
him, I'll lick him for every minute he's late; and, mind, don't let old
Rory O'More here know,