Sponge asleep.
'Where did you say the hounds are to-morrow?' at length asked he, after Mr.
Jawleyford had talked himself out.
'To-morrow,' repeated Mr. Jawleyford, thoughtfully, 'to-morrow--they don't
hunt to-morrow--not one of their days--next day. Scrambleford
Green--Scrambleford Green--no, no, I'm wrong--Dundleton Tower--Dundleton
Tower.'
'How far is that from here?' asked Mr. Sponge.
'Oh, ten miles--say ten miles,' replied Mr. Jawleyford. It was sometimes
ten, and sometimes fifteen, depending upon whether Mr. Jawleyford wanted
the party to go or not. These elastic places, however, are common in all
countries--to sight-seers as well as to hunters. 'Close by--close by,' one
day. 'Oh! a lo-o-ng way from here,' another.
It is difficult, for parties who have nothing in common, to drive a
conversation, especially when each keeps jibbing to get upon a private
subject of his own. Jawleyford was all for sounding Sponge as to where he
came from, and the situation of his property; for as yet, it must be
remembered, he knew nothing of our friend, save what he had gleaned at
Laverick Wells, where certainly all parties concurred in placing him high
on the list of 'desirables,' while Sponge wanted to talk about hunting, the
meets of the hounds, and hear what sort of a man Lord Scamperdale was.
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