Facey, having the apparently inexhaustible sum of a thousand pounds, began life as a fox-hunter—­in a very small way, to be sure—­more for the purpose of selling horses than anything else; but, having succeeded in ‘doing’ all the do-able gentlemen, both with the ‘Tip and Go’ and Cranerfield hounds, his occupation was gone, it requiring an extended field—­such as our friend Sponge roamed—­to carry on cheating in horses for any length of time.  Facey was soon blown, his name in connexion with a horse being enough to prevent any one looking at him.  Indeed, we question that there is any less desirable mode of making, or trying to make money, than by cheating or even dealing in horses.  Many people fancy themselves cheated, whatever they get; while the man who is really cheated never forgets it, and proclaims it to the end of time.  Moreover, no one can go on cheating in horses for any length of time, without putting himself in the power of his groom; and let those who have seen how servants lord it over each other say how they would like to subject themselves to similar treatment.—­But to our story.

Facey Romford had now a splendid milk-white horse, well-known in Mr. Nobbington’s and Lord Leader’s hunts as Mr. Hobler, but who Facey kindly rechristened the ‘Nonpareil,’ which the now rising price of oats, and falling state of his finances, made him particularly anxious to get rid of, ere the horse performed the equestrian feat of ‘eating its head off.’  He was a very hunter-like looking horse, but his misfortune consisted in having such shocking seedy toes, that he couldn’t keep his shoes on.  If he got through the first field with them on, they were sure to be off at the fence.  This horse Facey voted to be the very thing for Mr. Sponge, and hearing that he had come into the country to hunt, it occurred to him that it would be a capital thing if he could get him to take Mother Overend’s spare bed and lodge with him, twelve shillings a week being more than Facey liked paying for his rooms.  Not that he paid twelve shillings for the rooms alone; on the contrary, he had a two-stalled stable, with a sort of kennel for his pointers, and a sty for his pig into the bargain.  This pig, which was eaten many times in anticipation, had at length fallen a victim to the butcher, and Facey’s larder was uncommonly well found in black-puddings, sausages, spare ribs, and the other component parts of a pig:  so that he was in very hospitable circumstances—­at least, in his rough and ready idea of what hospitality ought to be.  Indeed, whether he had or not, he’d have risked it, being quite as good at carrying things off with a high hand as Mr. Sponge himself.