‘Oh, vy,’ replied Mr. Buckram, gathering all the money up again, ’I believe it was this ‘ere,’ beginning to drop them to half-minute time, and talking very slowly; ’the oss, I believe, got the better of Lord Bullfrog one day, somewhere a little on this side of Thrussinton—­that, you know, is where Sir ’Arry built his kennels—­between Mount Sorrel and Melton in fact—­and havin’ got his Lordship off, who, I should tell you, is an uncommon fat ’un, he wouldn’t let him on again, and he ’ad to lead him the matter of I don’t know ‘ow many miles’; Mr. Buckram letting go the whole balance of silver in a rush, as if to denote that it was no joke.

‘The brute!’ observed Mr. Waffles, in disgust, adding, ’Well, as you seem to have a pretty good opinion of him, suppose you buy him; I’ll let you have him cheap.’

‘’Ord bless you—­my lord—­that’s to say, sir!’ exclaimed Buckram, shrugging up his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows as high as they would go, ’he’d be of no use to me, none votsomever—­shouldn’t know what to do with him—­never do for ’arness—­besides, I ’ave a werry good machiner as it is—­at least, he sarves my turn, and that’s everything, you know.  No, sir, no,’ continued he, slowly and thoughtfully, dropping the silver to half-minute time; ‘no, sir, no; if I might make free with a gen’leman o’ your helegance,’ continued he, after a pause,’ I’d say, sell ’im to a post-master or a buss-master, or some sich cattle as those, but I doesn’t think I’d put ’im into the ’ands of no gen’leman, that’s to say if I were you, at least,’ added he.

‘Well, then, will you speculate on him yourself for the buss-masters?’ asked Mr. Waffles, tired alike of the colloquy and the quadruped.

[Illustration:  PORTRAIT OF LORD BULLFROG, FORMERLY OWNER OF ‘HERCULES’]

‘Oh, vy, as to that,’ replied Mr. Buckram, with an air of the most perfect indifference, ‘vy, as to that—­not bein’ nouther a post-master nor a buss-master—­but ‘aving, as I said before, a little hindependence o’ my own, vy, I couldn’t in course give such a bountiful price as if I could turn ’im to account at once; but if it would be any ‘commodation to you,’ added he, working the silver up into full cry, ‘I wouldn’t mind givin’ you the with (worth) of ‘im—­say, deductin’ expenses hup to town, and standin’ at livery afore I finds a customer—­expenses hup to town,’ continued Mr. Buckram, muttering to himself in apparent calculation, ‘standin’ at livery—­three-and-sixpence a night, grum, and so on—­I wouldn’t mind,’ continued he briskly, ‘givin’ of you twenty pund for ’im—­if you’d throw me back a sov.,’ continued he, seeing Mr. Waffles’ brow didn’t contract into the frown he expected at having such a sum offered for his three-hundred-guinea horse.

In the course of an hour, that wonderful invention of modern times,—­the Electric Telegraph—­conveyed the satisfactory words ‘All right’ to our friend Mr. Sponge, just as he was sitting down to dinner in a certain sumptuously sanded coffee-room in Conduit Street, who forthwith sealed and posted the following ready-written letter: