Sponge, thinkin', as he was a lord's, he might praise 'im,
seein', in all probability, he weren't for sale. "He is _that_," said the
grum, patting him on the neck, as though he were special fond on him. "Is
my lord out?" asked Mr. Sponge. "No, sir; he's not come down yet," replied
the man, "nor do I know when he will come. He's been down at Bath for some
time 'sociatin' with the aldermen o' Bristol and has thrown up a vast o'
bad flesh--two stun' sin' last season--and he's afeared this oss won't be
able to carry 'im, and so he writ to me to take 'im out to-day, to show
'im." "He'd carry _me_, I think," said Mr. Sponge, making hup his mind on
the moment, jist as he makes hup his mind to ride at a fence--not that I
think it's a good plan for a gent to show that he's sweet on an oss, for
they're sure to make him pay for it. Howsomever, that's nouther here nor
there. Well, jist as Mr. Sponge said this, Sir Richard driv' hup, and
havin' got his oss, away we trotted to the goss jist below, and the next
thing I see'd was Mr. Sponge leadin' the 'ole field on this werry nag.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153