Jawleyford, as he nearly tripped over Sponge's luggage as it
stood by the fire. 'Here you are,' repeated he, giving the candle a
flourish, to show the size of the room, and draw it back on the portrait of
himself above the mantelpiece. 'Ah! I declare here's an old picture of
myself,' said he, holding the candle up to the face, as if he hadn't seen
it for some time--'a picture that was done when I was in the Bumperkin
yeomanry,' continued he, passing the light before the facings. 'That was
considered a good likeness at the time,' said he, looking affectionately at
it, and feeling his nose to see if it was still the same size. 'Ours was a
capital corps--one of the best, if not the very best in the service. The
inspecting officer always spoke of it in the highest possible
terms--especially of _my_ company, which really was just as perfect as
anything my Lord Cardigan, or any of your crack disciplinarians, can
produce. However, never mind,' continued he, lowering the candle, seeing
Mr. Sponge didn't enter into the spirit of the thing; 'you'll be wanting to
dress.
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