, his dull phlegmatic face contrasting
with the eager excitement of Mr. Sponge's countenance. If it had not been
that Jog wanted to see that Leather did not play any tricks with his horse,
he would not have gone a yard to please Mr. Sponge. Jog might, however,
have been easy on that score, for Leather had just buckled the curb-rein of
the horse's bridle round a tree in the plantations where they found, and
the animal, being used to this sort of work, had fallen-to quite
contentedly upon the grass within reach.

Bilkington Pike now appeared in view, and Jog drew in as he spied it. He
knew the damage: sixpence for carriages, and he doubted that Sponge would
pay it.

'It's no use going any (wheeze) farther,' observed he, drawing up into a
walk, as he eyed the red-brick gable end of the toll-house, and the
formidable white gate across the road.

Tom Coppers had heard the hounds, and, knowing the hurry sportsmen are
often in, had taken the precaution to lock the gate.

'Just a _leetle_ farther!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge soothingly, whose anxiety
in looking after the hounds had prevented his seeing this formidable
impediment. 'If you would just drive up to that farmhouse on the hill,'
pointing to one about half a mile off, 'I think we should be able to decide
whether it's worth going on or not.'

'Well (puff), well (wheeze), well (gasp),' pondered Jogglebury, still
staring at the gate, 'if you (puff) think it's worth (wheeze) while going
through the (gasp) gate,' nodding towards it as he spoke.

'Oh, never mind the gate,' replied Mr. Sponge, with an ostentatious dive
into his breeches pocket, as if he was going to pay it.

He kept his hand in his pocket till he came close up to the gate, when,
suddenly drawing it out, he said:

'Oh, hang it! I've left my purse at home! Never mind, drive on,' said he to
his host; exclaiming to the man, 'it's Mr. Crowdey's carriage--Mr.
Jogglebury Crowdey's carriage! Mr. Crowdey, the chairman of the
Stir-it-stiff Poor-Law Union!'

'Sixpence!' shouted the man, following the phaeton with outstretched hand.

''Ord, hang it (puff)! I could have done that (wheeze),' growled
Jogglebury, pulling up.

'You harn't got no ticket,' said Coppers, coming up, 'and ain't a-goin' to
not never no meetin' o' trustees, are you?' asked he, seeing the importance
of the person with whom he had to deal;--a trustee of that and other roads,
and one who always availed himself of his privilege of going to the
me