’We shall want three stalls, sir—­recollect, sir, ’interrupted Leather, who did not wish to move his quarters.

‘True, I forgot,’ replied Sponge, with a frown at his servant’s officiousness; ‘however, if we can get two good stalls for the hunters,’ said he, ‘we’ll manage the hack somehow or other.’

‘Well,’ replied Mr. Leather, in a tone of resignation, knowing how hopeless it was arguing with his master.

‘I really think,’ gasped Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey, encouraged by the apparent sympathy of the servant to make a last effort, ‘I really think,’ repeated he, as the hashed mutton and haddocks again flashed across his mind, ’that my (puff—­wheeze) plan is the (puff) best; let me (puff—­wheeze) home and see how all (puff—­wheeze) things are, and then I’ll write you a (puff—­wheeze) line, or send a (puff—­wheeze) servant over.’

‘Oh no,’ replied Mr. Sponge, ’oh no—­that’s far too much trouble.  I’ll just go over with you now and reconnoitre.’

’I’m afraid Mrs. (puff—­wheeze) Crowdey will hardly be prepared for (puff—­wheeze) visitors,’ ejaculated our friend, recollecting it was washing-day, and that Mary Ann would be wanted in the laundry.

‘Don’t mention it!’ exclaimed Mr. Sponge; ’don’t mention it.  I hate to be made company of.  Just give me what you have yourselves—­just give me what you have yourselves.  Where two can dine, three can dine, you know.’

Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey was nonplussed.

‘Well, now,’ said Mr. Sponge, turning again to Leather; ’just go upstairs and help me to pack up my things; and,’ addressing himself to our visitor, he said, ’perhaps you’ll amuse yourself with the paper—­the Post—­or I’ll lend you my Mogg,’ continued he, offering the little gilt-lettered, purple-backed volume as he spoke.

‘Thank’ee,’ replied Mr. Jogglebury, who was still tapping away at the card, which he had now worked very soft.

Mr. Sponge then left him with the volume in his hand, and proceeded upstairs to his bedroom.

In less than twenty minutes, the vehicle was got under way, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey and Mr. Sponge occupying the roomy seats in front, and Bartholomew Badger, the before-mentioned tiger, and Mr. Sponge’s portmanteau and carpet-bag, being in the very diminutive turnover seat behind.  The carriage was followed by the straining eyes of sundry Johns and Janes, who unanimously agreed that Mr. Sponge was the meanest, shabbiest gent they had ever had in their house.  Mr. Leather was, therefore, roasted in the servants’ hall, where the sins of the masters are oft visited upon the servants.

But to our travellers.