dies, I dare say, would like a little wine.'

'The ladies drink white wine--sherry,' rejoined Jawleyford, determined to
make a last effort to save his port. 'However, you can have a bottle of
port to yourself, you know.'

'Very well,' said Sponge.

'One condition I must attach,' said Mr. Jawleyford, 'which is, that you
_finish_ the bottle. Don't let us have any waste, you know.'

'I'll do my best,' said Sponge, determined to have it; whereupon Mr.
Jawleyford growled the word 'Port' to the butler, who had been witnessing
his master's efforts to direct attention to the negus. Thwarted in his
endeavour, Jawleyford's headache became worse, and the ladies, seeing how
things were going, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving our hero to his
fate.

'I'll leave a note on my writing-table when I go to bed,' observed
Jawleyford to Spigot, as the latter was retiring after depositing the
bottle; 'and tell Harry to start with it early in the morning, so as to get
to Woodmansterne about breakfast--nine o'clock, or so, at latest,' added
he.

'Yes, sir,' replied Spigot, withdrawing with an air.

Sponge then wanted to narrate the adventures of the day; but, independently
of Jawleyford's natural indifference for hunting, he was too much out of
humour at being done out of his wine to lend a willing ear; and after
sundry 'hums,' 'indeeds,' 'sos,' &c., Sponge thought he might as well think
the run over to himself as trouble to put it into words, whereupon a long
silence ensued, interrupted only by the tinkling of Jawleyford's spoon
against his glass, and the bumps of the decanter as Sponge helped himself
to his wine.

At length Jawleyford, having had as much negus as he wanted, excused
himself from further attendence, under the plea of increasing illness, and
retired to his study to concoct his letter to Jack.

At first he was puzzled how to address him. If he had been Jack Spraggon,
living in old Mother Nipcheese's lodgings at Starfield, as he was when Lord
Scamperdale took him by the hand, he would have addressed him as 'Dear
Sir,' or perhaps in the third person, 'Mr. Jawleyford presents his
compliments to Mr. Spraggon,' &c.; but, as my lord's right-hand man, Jack
carried a certain weight, and commanded a certain influence, that he would
never have acquired of himself.

Jawleyford spoilt three sheets of cream-laid satin-wove note-paper (crested
and ciphered) before he pleased himself with a beginning. First he had it
'Dear Sir,'