‘But, my dear Mr. Spraggon,’ resumed Pacey, in the same gentle tone, ’you surely forget what you asked me to do.’

‘I do,’ replied Jack firmly.

’Well, but, my dear Mr. Spraggon, if you’ll have the kindness to recollect—­to consider—­to reflect on what passed, you’ll surely remember commissioning me to challenge Mr. Sponge’s horse for you?’

‘Me!’ exclaimed Jack, bouncing up in bed, and sitting squinting furiously. ‘Me!’ repeated he; ’unpossible.  How could I do such a thing?  Why, I handicap’d him, man, for you, man?’

‘You told me, for all that,’ replied Mr. Pacey, with a jerk of the head.

‘Oh, by Jove!’ exclaimed Jack, taking his cap by the tassel, and twisting it off his head,’ that won’t do!—­downright impeachment of one’s integrity.  Oh, by Jingo! that won’t do!’ motioning as if he was going to bounce out of bed;’ can’t stand that—­impeach one’s integrity, you know, better take one’s life, you know.  Life without honour’s nothin’, you know.  Cock Pheasant at Weybridge, six o’clock i’ the mornin’!’

‘Oh, I assure you, I didn’t mean anything of that sort,’ exclaimed Mr. Pacey, frightened at Jack’s vehemence, and the way in which he now foamed at the mouth, and flourished his nightcap about.  ’Oh, I assure you, I didn’t mean anything of that sort,’ repeated he, ’only I thought p’raps you mightn’t recollect all that had passed, p’raps; and if we were to talk matters quietly over, by putting that and that together, we might assist each other and—­’

‘Oh, by Jove!’ interrupted Jack, dashing his nightcap against the bedpost, ’too late for anything of that sort, sir—­downright impeachment of one’s integrity, sir—­must be settled another way, sir.’

‘But, I assure you, you mistake!’ exclaimed Pacey.

‘Rot your mistakes!’ interrupted Jack; ’there’s no mistake in the matter.  You’ve reglarly impeached my integrity—­blood of the Spraggons won’t stand that.  “Death before Dishonour!"’ shouted he, at the top of his voice, flourishing his nightcap over his head, and then dashing it on to the middle of the floor.

‘What’s the matter?—­what’s the matter?—­what’s the matter?’ exclaimed Mr. Sponge, rushing through the connecting door.  ‘What’s the matter?’ repeated he, placing himself between the bed in which Jack still sat upright, squinting his eyes inside out, and where Mr. Pacey stood.

‘Oh, Mr. Sponge!’ exclaimed Jack, clasping his raised hands in thankfulness, ’I’m so glad you’re here!—­I’m so thankful you’re come!  I’ve been insulted!—­oh, goodness, how I’ve been insulted!’ added he, throwing himself back in the bed, as if thoroughly overcome with his feelings.

‘Well, but what’s the matter?—­what is it all about?’ asked Sponge coolly, having a pretty good guess what it was.

‘Never was so insulted in my life!’ ejaculated Jack, from under the bedclothes.