‘Indeed,’ exclaimed Jack, raising his eyebrows, and squinting his eyes inside out; Jack’s opinion of a man being entirely regulated by his purse.

‘It’s a fact,’ said his lordship, with a knowing shake of his head.  ’As we were toddling home with the hounds, I said to Frosty, “I hope that Mr. Something’s comfortable in his bath”—­meaning Gobblecow Bog, which he rode into.  “Why,” said Frosty, “it’s no great odds what comes of such rubbage as that.”  Now, Frosty, you know, in a general way, is a most polite, fair-spoken man, specially before Christmas, when he begins to look for the tips; and as we are not much troubled with strangers, thanks to your sensible way of handling them, I thought Frosty would have made the most of this natural son of Dives, and been as polite to him as possible.  However, he was evidently no favourite of Frosty’s.  So I just asked—­not that one likes to be familiar with servants, you know, but still this brown-booted beggar is enough to excite one’s curiosity and make any one go out of one’s way a little—­so I just asked Frosty what he knew about him.  “All over the left,” said Frosty, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder, and looking as knowing as a goose with one eye; “all over the left,” repeated he.  “What’s over the left?” said I.  “Why, this Mr. Sponge,” said he.  “How so?” asked I.  “Why,” said Frosty, “he’s come gammonin’ down here that he’s a great man—­full of money, and horses, and so on; but it’s all my eye, he’s no more a great man than I am."’

‘The deuce!’ exclaimed Jack, who had sat squinting and listening intently as his lordship proceeded.  ’Well, now, hang me, I thought he was a snob the moment I saw him,’ continued he; Jack being one of those clever gentlemen who know everything after they are told.

’"Well, how do you know.  Jack?” said I to Frosty.  “Oh, I knows,” replied he, as if he was certain about it.  However, I wasn’t satisfied without knowing too; and, as we kept jogging on, we came to the old Coach and Horses, and I said to Jack, “We may as well have a drop of something to warm us.”  So we halted, and had glasses of brandy apiece, whips and all; and then, as we jogged on again, I just said to Jack casually, “Did you say it was Mr. Blossomnose told you about old Brown Boots?” “No—­Blossomnose—­no,” replied he, as if Blossom never had anything half so good to tell; “it was a young woman,” said he, in an undertone, “who told me, and she had it from old Brown Boots’s groom."’

‘Well, that’s good,’ observed Jack, diving his hands into the very bottom of his great tartan trouser pockets, and shooting his legs out before him; ‘well, that’s good,’ repeated he, falling into a sort of reverie.

‘Well, but what can we make of it?’ at length inquired he, after a long pause, during which he ran the facts through his mind, and thought they could not be much ruder to Sponge than they had been.  ’What can we make of it?’ said he.  ’The fellow can ride, and we can’t prevent him hunting; and his having nothing only makes him less careful of his neck.’