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'No,' replied Sponge; 'no; merely an acquaintance. We met at Laverick
Wells, and he pressed me to come and see him.'
'Indeed!' said Watson, feeling at ease again.
'Who did you live with before you came here?' asked Mr. Sponge, after a
pause.
'I lived many years--the greater part of my life, indeed--with Sir Harry
Swift. _He_ was a _real_ gentleman now, if you like--free, open-handed
gentleman--none of your close-shavin', cheese-parin' sort of gentlemen, or
imitation gentlemen, as I calls them, but a man who knew what was due to
good servants and gave them it. We had good wages, and all the proper
"reglars." Bless you, I could sell a new suit of clothes there every year,
instead of having to wear the last keeper's cast-offs, and a hat that would
disgrace anything but a flay-crow. If the linin' wasn't stuffed full of
gun-waddin' it would be over my nose,' he observed, taking it off and
adjusting the layer of wadding as he spoke.
'You should have stuck to Sir Harry,' observed Mr. Sponge.
'I did,' rejoined Watson.


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