_November 1852_
CHAPTER I
OUR HERO
[Illustration]
It was a murky October day that the hero of our tale, Mr. Sponge, or Soapey
Sponge, as his good-natured friends call him, was seen mizzling along
Oxford Street, wending his way to the West. Not that there was anything
unusual in Sponge being seen in Oxford Street, for when in town his daily
perambulations consist of a circuit, commencing from the Bantam Hotel in
Bond Street into Piccadilly, through Leicester Square, and so on to
Aldridge's, in St. Martin's Lane, thence by Moore's sporting-print shop,
and on through some of those ambiguous and tortuous streets that, appearing
to lead all ways at once and none in particular, land the explorer, sooner
or later, on the south side of Oxford Street.
Oxford Street acts to the north part of London what the Strand does to the
south: it is sure to bring one up, sooner or later. A man can hardly get
over either of them without knowing it. Well, Soapey having got into Oxford
Street, would make his way at a squarey, in-kneed, duck-toed, sort of pace,
regulated by the bonnets, the vehicles, and the equestrians he met to
criticize; for of women, vehicles, and horses, he had voted himself a
consummate judge.
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