himself very presentable without them, still he could not but feel that they were a desirable addition.  Then, too, he had a splitting headache; and finding that breakfast was not till ten and might be a good deal later, all things considered, he determined to be off and follow up his success under more favourable auspices.  Considering that all the clothes he had with him were his lordship’s, he thought it immaterial which he went home in, so to save trouble he just wrapped himself up in his mackintosh and travelled in the dress ones he had on.

[Illustration]

It 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 murmur—­unless, indeed, an inquiry when his lordship would be coming could be considered in that light.