‘Which?’ inquired Sponge, looking about the thinly peopled station.

‘There,’ replied Leather, ‘those by the book-stall.  That be Mr. Waffles,’ continued he, giving his master a touch in the ribs as he jerked his portmanteau into a fly, ‘that be Mr. Waffles,’ repeated he, with a knowing leer.

‘Which?’ inquired Mr. Sponge eagerly.

’The gent in the green wide-awake ‘at, and big-button’d overcoat,’ replied Leather, ‘jest now a speakin’ to the youth in the tweed and all tweed; that be Master Caingey Thornton, as big a little blackguard as any in the place—­lives upon Waffles, and yet never has a good word to say for him, no, nor for no one else—­and yet to ‘ear the little devil a-talkin’ to him, you’d really fancy he believed there wasn’t not never sich another man i’ the world as Waffles—­not another sich rider—­not another sich racket-player—­not another sich pigeon-shooter—­not another sich fine chap altogether.’

‘Has Thornton any horses?’ asked Sponge.

‘Not he,’ replied Leather, ’not he, nor the gen’lman next him nouther—­he, in the pilot coat, with the whip sticking out of the pocket, nor the one in the coffee-coloured ’at, nor none on ’em in fact’; adding, ’they all live on Squire Waffles—­breakfast with him—­dine with him—­drink with him—­smoke with him—­and if any on ’em ’appen to ’ave an ’orse, why they sell to him, and so ride for nothin’ themselves.’

‘A convenient sort of gentleman,’ observed Mr. Sponge, thinking he, too, might accommodate him.

The fly-man now touched his hat, indicative of a wish to be off, having a fare waiting elsewhere.  Mr. Sponge directed him to proceed to the Brunswick Hotel, while, accompanied by Leather, he proceeded on foot to the stables.

Mr. Leather, of course, had the valuable stud under lock and key, with every crevice and air-hole well stuffed with straw, as if they had been the most valuable horses in the world.  Having produced the ring-key from his pocket, Mr. Leather opened the door, and having got his master in, speedily closed it, lest a breath of fresh air might intrude.  Having lighted a lucifer, he turned on the gas, and exhibited the blooming-coated horses, well littered in straw, showing that he was not the man to pay four-and-twenty shillings a week for nothing.  Mr. Sponge stood eyeing them for some seconds with evident approbation.

’If any one asks you about the horses, you can say they are mine, you know,’ at length observed he casually, with an emphasis on the mine.

‘In course,’ replied Leather.

‘I mean, you needn’t say anything about their being jobs,’ observed Sponge, fearing Leather mightn’t exactly ‘take.’

‘You trust me,’ replied Leather, with a knowing wink and a jerk of his elbow against his master’s side; ‘you trust me,’ repeated he, with a look as much as to say, ‘we understand each other.’

‘I’ve hadded a few to them, indeed,’ continued Leather, looking to see how his master took it.