He then began to read it, and the further he got the more he was disgusted.  At last, when he came to the ’seasonal fox, which some thought was a bay one,’ his indignation knew no bounds, and crumpling the paper up in a heap, he threw it from him in disgust.  Just then in came Plummey, the butler.  Plummey saw at a glance what had happened; for Mr. Bragg, and the whips, and the grooms, and the helpers, and the feeder—­the whole hunting establishment—­were up in arms at the burlesque, and vowing vengeance against the author of it.  Mr. Spraggon, on seeing what a mess had been made of his labours, availed himself of the offer of a seat in Captain Guano’s dog-cart, and was clear of the premises; while Mr. Sponge determined to profit by Spraggon’s absence, and lay the blame on him.

‘Oh, Plummey!’ exclaimed Mr. Puffington, as his servant entered, ’I’m deuced unwell—­quite knocked up, in short,’ clapping his hand on his forehead, adding, ‘I shall not be able to dine downstairs to-day.’

‘’Deed, sir,’ replied Mr. Plummey, in a tone of commiseration—­’’deed, sir; sorry to hear that, sir.’

‘Are they all gone?’ asked Mr. Puffington, dropping his boiled-gooseberry-looking eyes upon the fine-flowered carpet.

‘All gone, sir—­all gone,’ replied Mr. Plummey; ‘all except Mr. Sponge.’

‘Oh, he’s still here!’ replied Mr. Puffington, shuddering with disgust at the recollection of the newspaper run.  ‘Is he going to-day?’ asked he.

‘No, sir—­I dare say not, sir,’ replied Mr. Plummey.  ’His man—­his groom—­his—­whatever he calls him, expects they’ll be staying some time.’

‘The deuce!’ exclaimed Mr. Puffington, whose hospitality, like Jawleyford’s, was greater in imagination than in reality.

‘Shall I take these things away?’ asked Plummey, after a pause.

‘Couldn’t you manage to get him to go?’ asked Mr. Puffington, still harping on his remaining guest.

‘Don’t know, sir.  I could try, sir—­believe he’s bad to move, sir,’ replied Plummey, with a grin.

‘Is he really?’ replied Mr. Puffington, alarmed lest Sponge should fasten himself upon him for good.

‘They say so,’ replied Mr. Plummey, ’but I don’t speak from any personal knowledge, for I know nothing of the man.’

‘Well,’ said Mr. Puffington, amused at his servant’s exclusiveness, ’I wish you would try to get rid of him, bow him out civilly, you know—­say I’m unwell—­very unwell—­deuced unwell—­ordered to keep quiet—­say it as if from yourself, you know—­it mustn’t appear as if it came from me, you know.’

‘In course not,’ replied Mr. Plummey, ‘in course not,’ adding, ’I’ll do my best, sir—­I’ll do my best.’  So saying, he took up the breakfast things and departed.

Mr. Sponge regaling himself with a cigar in the stables and shrubberies, it was some time before Mr. Plummey had an opportunity of trying his diplomacy upon him, it being contrary to Mr. Plummey’s custom to go out of doors after any one.  At last he saw Sponge coming lounging along the terrace-walk, looking like a man thoroughly disengaged, and, timing himself properly, encountered him in the entrance.