Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

  CHAPTER XLIX

  COUNTRY QUARTERS

  LADY SCATTERCASH]

  Sir Harry Scattercash's were only an ill-supported pack of hounds; theywere not kept upon any fixed principles. We do not mean to say that theyhad not plenty to eat, but their management was only of the scrimmagingorder. Sir Harry was what is technically called 'going it.' Like our noblefriend, Lord Hard-up, now Earl of Scamperdale, he had worked through themorning of life without knowing what it was to be troubled with money; but,unlike his lordship, now that he had unexpectedly come into some, he seemedbent upon trying how fast he could get through it. In this laudableendeavour he was ably assisted by Lady Scattercash, late the lovely andelegant Miss Spangles, of the 'Theatre Royal, Sadler's Wells.' Sir Harryhad married her before his windfall made him a baronet, having, at thetime, some intention of trying his luck on the stage, but he alwaysdeclared that he never regretted his choice; on the contrary, he said, ifhe had gone among the 'duchesses,' he could not have suited himself better.Lady Scattercash could ride--indeed, she used to do scenes in the circle(two horses and a flag)--and she could drive, and smoke, and sing, and waspossessed of many other accomplishments. Sir Harry would sometimes drinkstraight on end for a week, and then not taste wine again for a month;sometimes the hounds hunted, and sometimes they did not; sometimes theywere advertized, and sometimes they were not; sometimes they went out onone day, and sometimes on another; sometimes they were fixed to be at sucha place, and went to quite a different one. When Sir Harry was on adrinking-bout they were shut up altogether; and the huntsman, Tom Watchorn,late of the 'Camberwell and Balham Hill Union Harriers,' an earlyacquaintance of Miss Spangles--indeed, some said he was her uncle--used togo away on a drinking excursion too. Altogether, they were what the countrypeople called a very 'promiscuous set.' The hounds were of all sorts andsizes; the horses of no particular stamp; and the men scamps and vagabondsof the first class.

  With such a master and such an establishment, we need hardly say that nostranger ever came into the country for the purpose of hunting. Sir Harry'sfields were entirely composed of his own choice 'set,' and a few farmers,and people whom he could abuse and do what he liked with. Mr. JoggleburyCrowdey, to be sure, had mentioned Sir Harry approvingly, when he went toMr. Puffington's, to inveigle Mr. Sponge over to Puddingpote Bower; butwhat might suit Mr. Jogglebury, who went out to seek gibbey sticks, mightnot suit a person who went out for the purpose of hunting a fox in order toshow off and sell his horses. In fact, Puddingpote Bower was an exceedinglybad hunting quarter, as things turned out. Sir Harry Scattercash, havinghad the run described in our two preceding chapters, and having justimported a few of the 'sock-and-buskin' sort from town, was not likely tobe going out again for a time; while Mr. Puffington, finding where Mr.Sponge had taken refuge, determined not to meet within reach of PuddingpoteBower, if he could possibly help it; and Lord Scamperdale was almost alwaysbeyond distance, unless horse and rider lay out over-night--a proceedingalways deprecated by prudent sportsmen. Mr. Sponge, therefore, got more ofMr. Jogglebury Crowdey's company than he wanted, and Mr. Crowdey got moreof Mr. Sponge's than he desired. In vain Jog took him up into his atticsand his closets, and his various holes and corners, and showed him hisenormous stock of sticks--some tied in sheaves, like corn; some put up moresparingly; and others, again, wrapped in silver paper, with their valuableheads enveloped in old gloves. Jog would untie the strings of these, andplacing the heads in the most favourable position before our friend, justas an artist would a portrait, question him as to whom he thought theywere.

  'There, now (puff),' said he, holding up one that he thought there could beno mistake about; 'who do you (wheeze) that is?'

  'Deaf Burke,' replied Mr. Sponge, after a stare.

  '_Deaf Burke!_ (puff),' replied Jog indignantly.

  'Who is it, then?' asked Mr. Sponge.

  'Can't you see? (wheeze),' replied Jog tartly.

  'No,' replied Sponge, after another examination. 'It's not Scroggins, isit?'

  'Napoleon (puff) Bonaparte,' replied Jog, with great dignity, returning thehead to the glove.

  He showed several others, with little better success, Mr. Sponge seemingrather to take a pleasure in finding ridiculous likenesses, instead ofhelping his host out in his conceits. The stick-mania was a failure, as faras Mr. Sponge was concerned. Neither were the peregrinations about thefarms, or ter-ri-to-ry, as Jog called his estate, more successful; a man'sestate, like his children, being seldom of much interest to any buthimself.

  Jog and Sponge were soon most heartily sick of each other. Nor did Mrs.Jog's charms, nor the voluble enunciation of 'Obin and Ichard,' followed by'Bah, bah, black sheep,' &c, from that wonderful boy, Gustavus James, mendmatters; for the young rogue having been in Mr. Sponge's room while MurryAnn was doing it out, had torn the back off Sponge's _Mogg_, and made sucha mess of his tooth-brush, by cleaning his shoes with it, as never wasseen.

  Mr. Sponge soon began to think it was not worth while staying atPuddingpote Bower for the mere sake of his keep, seeing there was nohunting to be had from it, and it did not do to keep hack hunters idle,especially in open weather. Leather and he, for once, were of the sameopinion, and that worthy shook his head, and said Mr. Crowdey was 'awfulmean,' at the same time pulling out a sample of bad ship oats, that he hadgot from a neighbouring ostler, to show the 'stuff' their 'osses' were aeatin' of. The fact was, Jog's beer was nothing like so strong as Mr.Puffington's; added to which, Mr. Crowdey carried the principles of thepoor-law union into his own establishment, and dieted his servants uponcertain rules. Sunday, roast beef, potatoes, and pudding under the meat;Monday, fried beef, and stick-jaw (as they profanely called a certainpudding); Wednesday, leg of mutton, and so on. The allowance of beer was apint and a half per diem to Bartholomew, and a pint to each woman; and Mr.Crowdey used to observe from the head of the servants' dinner-table on thearrival of each cargo, 'Now this (puff) beer is to (wheeze) a month, and,if you choose to drink it in a (gasp) day, you'll go without any for therest of the (wheeze) time'; an intimation that had a very favourable effectupon the tap. Mr. Leather, however, did not like it. 'Puffington'sservants,' he said, 'had beer whenever they chose,' and he thought it'awful mean' restricting the quantity. Mr. Jog, however, was not to bemoved. Thus time crawled heavily on.

  Mr. and Mrs. Jog had a long confab one night on the expediency of gettingrid of Mr. Sponge. Mrs. Jog wanted to keep him on till after thechristening; while Jog combated her reasons by representing theimprobability of its doing Gustavus James any good having him for agodpapa, seeing Sponge's age, and the probability of his marrying himself.Mrs. Jog, however, was very determined; rather too much so, indeed, for sheawakened Jog's jealousy, who lay tossing and tumbling about all through thenight.

  He was up very early, and as Mrs. Jog was falling into a comfortable nap,she was aroused by his well-known voice hallooing as loud as he could inthe middle of the entrance-passage.

  'BARTHOLO-_me-e-w!_' the last syllable being pronounced orprolonged like a mew of a cat. 'BARTHOLO-_me-e-w!_' repeated he,not getting an answer to the first shout.

  'MURRY ANN!' shouted he, after another pause.

  'MURRY ANN!' exclaimed he, still louder.

  Just then, the iron latch of a door at the top of the house opened, and afemale voice exclaimed hurriedly over the banisters:

  'Yes, sir! here, sir! comin' sir! comin'!'

  'Oh, Murry Ann (puff), that's (wheeze) you, is it?' asked Jog, stillspeaking at the top of his voice.

  'Yes, sir,' replied Mary Ann.

  'Oh! then, Murry Ann, I wanted to (puff)--that you'd better get the (puff)breakfast ready early. I think Mr. (gasp)--Sponge will be (wheezing) awayto-day.'

  'Yes, sir,' replied Mary Ann.

  All this was said in such a tone as could not fail to be heard all over thehouse; certainly into Mr. Sponge's room, which was midway between thespeakers.

  What prevented Mr. Sponge wheezing away, will appear in the next chapter.