ed at cards--fairly,
downrightly robbed. Never was a more reg'ler plant put on a man. Thank
goodness, however, I haven't paid him--never will, either. Such a
confounded, disreputable scoundrel deserves to be punished--big, bad,
blackguard-looking fellow! How the deuce I could ever be taken in by such a
fellow! Believe he's nothing but a great poaching blackleg. Hasn't the
faintest outlines of a gentleman about him--not the slightest particle--not
the remotest glimmerin'.'

These and similar reflections were interrupted by a great thump against the
thin lath-and-plaster wall that separated their rooms, or rather closets,
accompanied by an exclamation of:

'HALLOO, OLD BOY! HOW GOES IT?'--an inquiry to which our friend
deigned no answer.

''Ord rot ye! you're awake,' muttered Facey to himself, well knowing that
no one could sleep after such a 'Jim-Crow-ing' and 'Swiss-boy-ing' as he
had given him. He therefore resumed his battery, thumping as though he
would knock the partition in.

'HALLOO!' at last exclaimed Mr. Sponge, 'who's there?'

'Well, old Sivin-Pund-Ten, how goes it?' asked Facey, in a tone of the
keenest irony.

'You be ----!' growled Mr. Sponge, in disgust.

'Breakfast in half an hour!' resumed Facey. 'Pigs'-puddin's and
sarsingers--all 'ot--pipin' 'ot!' continued our host.

'Wish you were pipin' 'ot,' growled Mr. Sponge, as he jerked himself out of
his little berth.

Though Facey pumped him pretty hard during this second pig repast, he could
make nothing out of Sponge with regard to his movements--our friend
parrying all his inquiries with his _Mogg_, and assurances that he could
amuse himself. In vain Facey represented that his Oncle Gilroy would be
expecting them; that Mr. Hobler was ready for him to ride over on; Sponge
wasn't inclined to shoot, but begged Facey wouldn't stay at home on his
account. The fact was, Sponge meditated a bolt, and was in close confab
with Leather, in the Rose and Crown stables, arranging matters, when the
sound of his name in the yard caused him to look out, when--oh, welcome
sight!--a Puddingpote Bower messenger put Sir Harry's note in his hand,
which had at length arrived at Jog's through their very miscellaneous
transit, called a post. Sponge, in the joy of his heart, actually gave the
lad a shilling! He now felt like a new man. He didn't care a rap for Facey,
and, ordering Leather to give him the hack and follow with the hunters, he
presently cantered out of town