‘A three-stall’d stable,’ repeated Mr. Watson.

‘Confound him, but he said he’d take in a hack at all events,’ observed Sponge, with a sideway shake of the head; ’and a hack he shall take in, too’ he added.  ‘Are your stables full at Jawleyford Court?’ he asked.

‘’Ord bless you, no, sir,’ replied Watson with a leer; ‘there’s nothin’ in them but a couple of weedy hacks and a pair of old worn-out carriage-horses.’

‘Then I can get this hack taken in, at all events,’ observed Sponge, laying his hand on the neck of the piebald as he spoke.

‘Why, as to that,’ replied Mr. Watson, with a shake of the head, ’I can’t say nothin’.’

‘I must, though,’ rejoined Sponge, tartly; ’he said he’d take in my hack, or I wouldn’t have come.’

‘Well, sir,’ observed the keeper, ‘you know best, sir.’

‘Confounded screw!’ muttered Sponge, turning away to give his orders to Leather.  ‘I’ll work him for it,’ he added.  ’He sha’n’t get rid of me in a hurry—­at least, not unless I can get a better billet elsewhere.’

Having arranged the parting with Leather, and got a cart to carry his things, Mr. Sponge mounted the piebald, and put himself under the guidance of Watson to be conducted to his destination.  The first part of the journey was performed in silence, Mr. Sponge not being particularly well pleased at the reception his request to have his horses taken in had met with.  This silence he might perhaps have preserved throughout had it not occurred to him that he might pump something out of the servant about the family he was going to visit.

‘That’s not a bad-like old cob of yours,’ he observed, drawing rein so as to let the shaggy white come alongside of him.

‘He belies his looks, then,’ replied Watson, with a grin of his cadaverous face, ’for he’s just as bad a beast as ever looked through a bridle.  It’s a parfect disgrace to a gentleman to put a man on such a beast.’

Sponge saw the sort of man he had got to deal with, and proceeded accordingly.

‘Have you lived long with Mr. Jawleyford?’ he asked.

‘No, nor will I, if I can help it,’ replied Watson, with another grin and another touch of the old hat.  Touching his hat was about the only piece of propriety he was up to.

‘What, he’s not a brick, then?’ asked Sponge.

‘Mean man,’ replied Watson with a shake of the head; ‘mean man,’ he repeated.  ‘You’re nowise connected with the fam’ly, I s’pose?’ he asked with a look of suspicion lest he might be committing himself.

‘No,’ replied Sponge; ’no; merely an acquaintance.  We met at Laverick Wells, and he pressed me to come and see him.’

‘Indeed!’ said Watson, feeling at ease again.

‘Who did you live with before you came here?’ asked Mr. Sponge, after a pause.