Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  THE FAITHFUL GROOM

  We left our friend Mr. Sponge wending his way home moodily, after havinglost his day at Larkhall Hill. Some of our readers will, perhaps, say, whydidn't he clap on, and try to catch up the hounds at a check, or at allevents rejoin them for an afternoon fox? Gentle reader! Mr. Sponge did nothunt on those terms; he was a front-rank or a 'nowhere' man, andindependently of catching hounds up being always a fatiguing and hazardousspeculation, especially on a fine-scenting day, the exertion would havetaken more out of his horse than would have been desirable for successfuldisplay in a second run. Mr. Sponge, therefore, determined to go home.

  As he sauntered along, musing on the mishaps of the chase, wondering howMiss Jawleyford would look, and playing himself an occasional tune with hisspur against his stirrup, who should come trotting behind him but Mr.Leather on the redoubtable chestnut? Mr. Sponge beckoned him alongside. Thehorse looked blooming and bright; his eye was clear and cheerful, and therewas a sort of springy graceful action that looked like easy going.

  One always fancies a horse most with another man on him. We see all hisgood points without feeling his imperfections--his trippings, or startings,or snatchings, or borings, or roughness of action, and Mr. Spongeproceeded to make a silent estimate of Multum in Parvo's qualities as hetrotted gently along on the grassy side of the somewhat wide road.

  'By Jove! it's a pity but his lordship had seen him,' thought Sponge, asthe emulation of companionship made the horse gradually increase his pace,and steal forward with the lightest, freest action imaginable. 'If he wasbut all right,' continued Sponge, with a shake of the head, 'he would beworth any money, for he has the strength of a dray-horse, with the symmetryand action of a racer.'

  Then Sponge thought he shouldn't have an opportunity of showing the horsetill Thursday, for Jack had satisfied him that the next day's meet wasquite beyond distance from Jawleyford Court.

  'It's a bore,' said he, rising in his stirrups, and tickling the piebaldwith his spurs, as if he were going to set-to for a race. He thought ofhaving a trial of speed with the chestnut, up a slip of turf they were nowapproaching; but a sudden thought struck him, and he desisted. 'Thesehorses have done nothing to-day,' he said; 'why shouldn't I send thechestnut on for to-morrow?'

  'Do you know where the cross-roads are?' he asked his groom.

  'Cross-roads, cross-roads--what cross-roads?' replied Leather.

  'Where the hounds meet to-morrow.'

  'Oh, the cross-roads at Somethin' Burn,' rejoined Leatherthoughtfully--'no, 'deed, I don't,' he added. 'From all 'counts, they seemto be somewhere on the far side of the world.'

  That was not a very encouraging answer; and feeling it would require a gooddeal of persuasion to induce Mr. Leather to go in search of them withoutclothing and the necessary requirements for his horses, Mr. Sponge wenttrotting on, in hopes of seeing some place where he might get a sight ofthe map of the county. So they proceeded in silence, till a sudden turn ofthe road brought them to the spire and housetops of the littleagricultural town of Barleyboll. It differed nothing from the ordinary runof small towns. It had a pond at one end, an inn in the middle, a church atone side, a fashionable milliner from London, a merchant tailor from thesame place, and a hardware shop or two where they also sold treacle,Dartford gunpowder, pocket-handkerchiefs, sheep-nets, patent medicines,cheese, blacking, marbles, mole-traps, men's hats, and other miscellaneousarticles. It was quite enough of a town, however, to raise a presumptionthat there would be a map of the county at the inn.

  'We'll just put the horses up for a few minutes, I think,' said Sponge,turning into the stable-yard at the end of the Red Lion Hotel and PostingHouse, adding, 'I want to write a letter, and perhaps,' said he, looking athis watch, 'you may be wanting your dinner.'

  Having resigned his horse to his servant, Mr. Sponge walked in, receivingthe marked attention usually paid to a red coat. Mine host left his bar,where he was engaged in the usual occupation of drinking with customers forthe 'good of the house.' A map of the county, of such liberal dimensions,was speedily produced, as would have terrified any one unaccustomed todistances and scales on which maps are laid down. For instance, JawleyfordCourt, as the crow flies, was the same distance from the cross-roads atDallington Burn as York was from London, in a map of England hanging besideit.

  'It's a goodish way,' said Sponge, getting a lighter off the chimney-piece,and measuring the distances. 'From Jawleyford Court to BillingsboroughRise, say seven miles; from Billingsborough Rise to Downington Wharf, otherseven; from Downington Wharf to Shapcot, which seems the nearest point,will be--say five or six, perhaps--nineteen or twenty in all. Well, that'smy work,' he observed, scratching his head, 'at least, my hack's; and fromhere, home,' he continued, measuring away as he spoke, 'will be twelve orthirteen. Well, that's nothing,' he said. 'Now for the horse,' hecontinued, again applying the lighter in a different direction. 'From hereto Hardington will be, say, eight miles; from Hardington to Bewley, otherfive; eight and five are thirteen; and there, I should say, he might sleep.That would leave ten or twelve miles for the morning; nothing for a hackhunter; 'specially such a horse as that, and one that's done nothing for Idon't know how long.'

  Altogether, Mr. Sponge determined to try it, especially considering that ifhe didn't get Tuesday, there would be nothing till Thursday; and he was notthe man to keep a hack hunter standing idle.

  Accordingly he sought Mr. Leather, whom he found busily engaged in theservants' apartment, with a cold round of beef and a foaming flagon of alebefore him.

  'Leather,' he said, in a tone of authority, 'I'll hunt to-morrow--ride thehorse I should have ridden to-day.'

  'Where at?' asked Leather, diving his fork into a bottle of pickles, andfishing out an onion.

  'The cross-roads,' replied Sponge.

  'The cross-roads be fifty miles from here!' cried Leather.

  'Nonsense!' rejoined Sponge; 'I've just measured the distance. It's nothingof the sort.'

  'How far do you make it, then?' asked Leather, tucking in the beef.

  'Why, from here to Hardington is about six, and from Hardington to Bewley,four--ten in all,' replied Sponge. 'You can stay at Bewley all night, andthen it is but a few miles on in the morning.'

  'And whativer am I to do for clothin'?' asked Leather, adding, 'I'venothin' with me--nothin' nouther for oss nor man.'

  'Oh, the ostler'll lend you what you want,' replied Sponge, in a tone ofdetermination, adding, 'you can make shift for one night surely?'

  'One night surely!' retorted Leather. 'D'ye think an oss can't be ruined inone night?--humph!'

  'I'll risk it,' said Sponge.

  'But I won't,' replied Leather, blowing the foam from the tankard, andtaking a long swig at the ale. 'I thinks I knows my duty to my gov'norbetter nor that,' continued he, setting it down. 'I'll not see hiswaluable 'unters stowed away in pigsties--not I, indeed.'

  The fact was, Leather had an invitation to sup with the servants atJawleyford Court that night, and he was not going to be done out of hisengagement, especially as Mr. Sponge only allowed him two shillings a dayfor expenses wherever he was.

  MR. LEATHER AND SPONGE HAVE A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION]

  'Well, you're a cool hand, anyhow,' observed Mr. Sponge, quite taken bysurprise.

  'Cool 'and, or not cool 'and,' replied Leather, munching away, 'I'll do myduty to my master. I'm not one o' your coatless, characterless scamps wot'ang about livery-stables ready to do anything they're bid. No sir, no,' hecontinued, pronging another onion; '_I_ have some regard for the hinteresto' my master. I'll do my duty in the station o' life in which I'm placed,and won't be 'fraid to face no man.' So saying, Mr. Leather cut himself agrand circumference of beef.

  Mr. Sponge was taken aback, for he had never seen a conscientiouslivery-stable helper before, and did not believe in the existence of sucharticles. However, here was Mr. Leather assuming a virtue, whether he hadit or not; and Mr. Sponge being in the man's power, of course durst not
quarrel with him. It was clear that Leather would not go; and the questionwas, what should Mr. Sponge do? 'Why shouldn't I go myself?' he thought,shutting his eyes, as if to keep his faculties free from outwarddistraction. He ran the thing quickly over in his mind. 'What Leather cando, I can do,' he said, remembering that a groom never demeaned himself byworking where there was an ostler. 'These things I have on will do quitewell for to-morrow, at least among such rough-and-ready dogs as the FlatHat men, who seem as if they had their clothes pitched on with a fork.'

  His mind was quickly made up, and calling for pen, ink, and paper, he wrotea hasty note to Jawleyford, explaining why he would not cast up till themorrow; he then got the chestnut out of the stable, and desiring the ostlerto give the note to Leather, and tell him to go home with his hack, he justrode out of the yard without giving Leather the chance of saying 'nay.' Hethen jogged on at a pace suitable to the accurate measurement of thedistance.

  The horse seemed to like having Sponge's red coat on better than Leather'sbrown, and champed his bit, and stepped away quite gaily.

  'Confound it!' exclaimed Sponge, laying the rein on its neck, and leaningforward to pat him; 'it's a pity but you were always in this humour--you'dbe worth a mint of money if you were.' He then resumed his seat in thesaddle, and bethought him how he would show them the way on the morrow. 'Ifhe doesn't beat every horse in the field, it shan't be my fault,' thoughthe; and thereupon he gave him the slightest possible touch with the spur,and the horse shot away up a strip of grass like an arrow.

  'By Jove, but you _can_ go!' said he, pulling up as the grass ran out uponthe hard road.

  Thus he reached the village of Hardington, which he quickly cleared, andtook the well-defined road to Bewley--a road adorned with milestones andset out with a liberal horse-track at either side.

  Day had closed ere our friend reached Bewley, but the children returningfrom school, and the country folks leaving their work, kept assuring himthat he was on the right line, till the lights of the town, bursting uponhim as he rounded the hill above, showed him the end of his journey.

  The best stalls at the head inn--the Bull's Head--were all full, severaltrusty grooms having arrived with the usual head-stalls and rolls ofclothing on their horses, denoting the object of their mission. Most of thehorses had been in some hours, and were now standing well littered up withstraw, while the grooms were in the tap talking over their masters,discussing the merits of their horses, or arguing whether Lord Scamperdalewas mad or not. They had just come to the conclusion that his lordship wasmad, but not incapable of taking care of his affairs, when the trampling ofSponge's horse's feet drew them out to see who was coming next. Sponge'sred coat at once told his tale, and procured him the usual attention.

  Mr. Leather's fear of the want of clothing for the valuable hunter provedwholly groundless, for each groom having come with a plentiful supply forhis own horse, all the inn stock was at the service of the stranger. Thestable, to be sure, was not quite so good as might be desired, but it waswarm and water-tight, and the corn was far from bad. Altogether, Mr. Spongethought he would do very well, and, having seen to his horse, proceeded tochoose between beef-steaks and mutton chops for his own entertainment, andwith the aid of the old country paper and some very questionable port, hepassed the evening in anticipation of the sports of the morrow.