'_Rose and Crown!_' replied Leather, with an emphasis.

'Rose and Crown!' exclaimed Sponge, starting in his saddle; 'Rose and
Crown! Why, I'm going to stay with Mr. Romford!'

'So he said.' replied Leather; 'so he said. I met him as I com'd in with
the osses, and said he to me, said he, "You'll find captle quarters at the
Crown!"' 'The deuce!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, dropping the reins on his
hack's neck; 'the deuce!' repeated he with a look of disgust. 'Why, where
does he live?'

''Bove the saddler's, thonder,' replied Leather, nodding to a small
bow-windowed white house a little lower down, with the gilt-lettered words:

OVEREND,
SADDLER AND HARNESS-MAKER TO THE QUEEN,

above a very meagrely stocked shop.

'The devil!' replied Mr. Sponge, boiling up as he eyed the cottage-like
dimensions of the place.

The dialogue was interrupted by a sledge-hammer-like blow on Sponge's back,
followed by such a proffered hand as could proceed from none but his host.

'Glad to see ye!' exclaimed Facey, swinging Sponge's arm to and fro. 'Get
off!' continued he, half dragging him down, 'and let's go in; for it's
beastly cold, and dinner'll be ready in no time!'

So saying, he led the captive Sponge down street, like a prisoner, by the
arm, and, opening the thin house-door, pushed him up a very straight
staircase into a little low cabin-like room, hung with boxing-gloves,
foils, and pictures of fighters and ballet girls.

'Glad to see ye!' again said Facey, poking the diminutive fire. 'Axed Nosey
Nickel and Gutty Weazel to meet you,' continued he, looking at the little
'dinner-for-two' table; 'but Nosey's gone wrong in a tooth, and Gutty's
away sweetheartin'. However, we'll be very cosy and jolly together; and if
you want to wash your hands, or anything afore dinner, I'll show you your
bedroom,' continued he, backing Sponge across the staircase landing to
where a couple of little black doors opened into rooms, formed by dividing
what had been the duplicate of the sitting-room into two.

'There!' exclaimed Facey, pointing to Sponge's portmanteau and bag,
standing midway between the window and door: 'There! there are your traps.
Yonder's the washhand-stand. You can put your shavin'-things on the chair
below the lookin'-glass 'gainst the wall,' pointing to a fragment of glass
nailed against the stencilled wall, all of which Sponge stood eyeing with
a mingled air of resignation and contempt; but when Facey pointed to: