By the time the worthies had finished the bottle, they had got a certain way into each other’s confidence.  The hint Lord Scamperdale had given about buying Sponge’s horses still occupied Jack’s mind; and the more he considered the subject, and the worth of a corner in his lordship’s will, the more sensible he became of the truth of the old adage, that ’a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’  ‘My lord,’ thought Jack, ’promises fair, but it is but a chance, and a remote one.  He may live many years—­as long, perhaps longer, than me.  Indeed, he puts me on horses that are anything but calculated to promote longevity.  Then he may marry a wife who may eject me, as some wives do eject their husbands’ agreeable friends; or he may change his mind, and leave me nothing after all.’

All things considered, Jack came to the conclusion that he should not be doing himself justice if he did not take advantage of such fair opportunities as chance placed in his way, and therefore he thought he might as well be picking up a penny during his lordship’s life, as be waiting for a contingency that might never occur.  Mr. Jawleyford’s indisposition preventing Jack making the announcement he was sent to do, made it incumbent on him, as he argued, to see what could be done with the alternative his lordship had proposed—­namely, buying Sponge’s horses.  At least.  Jack salved his conscience over with the old plea of duty; and had come to that conclusion as he again helped himself to the last glass in the bottle.

‘Would you like a little claret?’ asked Sponge, with all the hospitality of a host.

‘No, hang your claret!’ replied Jack.

‘A little brandy, perhaps?’ suggested Sponge.

‘I shouldn’t mind a glass of brandy,’ replied Jack, ‘by way of a nightcap.’

Spigot, at this moment entering to announce tea and coffee, was interrupted in his oration by Sponge demanding 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.