'Well (puff), but you'd better have your (wheeze) horse round,' observed
Jog, anxious to avoid any overture for a return.

'Thankee,' replied Mr. Sponge, making a parting bow; 'I'll get him at the
stable.'

'I'll go with you,' said Jog, leading the way.

Leather had saddled, and bridled, and turned him round in the stall, with
one of Mr. Jog's blanket-rugs on, which Mr. Sponge just swept over his tail
into the manger, and led the horse out.

'Adieu!' said he, offering his hand to his host.

'Good-bye!--good (puff) sport to you,' said Jog, shaking it heartily.

Mr. Sponge then mounted his hack, and cocking out his toe, rode off at a
canter.

At the same moment, Bartholomew drove away from the front door; and Jog,
having stood watching the phaeton over the rise of Pennypound Hill, scraped
his feet, re-entered his house, and rubbing them heartily on the mat as he
closed the sash-door, observed aloud to himself, with a jerk of his head:

'Well, now, that's the most (puff) impittent feller I ever saw in my life!
Catch me (gasp) godpapa-hunting again.'

CHAPTER LIX

THE ADJOURNED DEBATE

The fatal invitation to Mr. Sponge having been sent, the question that now
occupied the minds of the assembled sharpers at Nonsuch House, was, whether
he was a pigeon or one of themselves. That point occupied their very deep
and serious consideration. If he was a 'pigeon,' they could clearly
accommodate him, but if, on the other hand, he was one of themselves, it
was painfully apparent that there were far too many of them there already.
Of course, the subject was not discussed in full and open conclave--they
were all highly honourable men in the gross--and it was only in the small
and secret groups of those accustomed to hunt together and unburden their
minds, that the real truth was elicited.

'What an ass Sir Harry is, to ask this Mr. Sponge,' observed Captain Quod
to Captain Seedeybuck, as (cigar in mouth) they paced backwards and
forwards under the flagged veranda on the west side of the house, on the
morning that Sir Harry had announced his intention of asking him.

'Confounded ass,' assented Seedeybuck, from between the whiffs of his
cigar.

'Dash it! one would think he had more money than he knew what to do with,'
observed the first speaker, 'instead of not knowing where to lay hands on a
halfpenny.'

'Soon be who-hoop,' here observed Quod, with a shake of the head.

'Fear so,' replied Seedeybuck. 'Have you