'Well, I thought we had a bottle with a queer smatch the other night,'
observed Sponge.
'Old Blossomnose corked half a dozen in succession one night,' replied
Jack.
(He had corked three, but Jawleyford re-corked them, and Spigot was now
reproducing them to our friends.)
Although they had now got the ice broken, and entered into something like a
conversation, it nevertheless went on very slowly, and they seemed to weigh
each word before it was uttered. Jack, too, had time to run his peculiar
situation through his mind, and ponder on his mission from Lord
Scamperdale--on his lordship's detestation of Mr. Sponge, his anxiety to
get rid of him, his promised corner in his will, and his lordship's hint
about buying Sponge's horses if he could not get rid of him in any other
way.
Sponge, on his part, was thinking if there was any possibility of turning
Jack to account.
It may seem strange to the uninitiated that there should be prospect of
gain to a middle-man in the matter of a horse-deal, save in the legitimate
trade of auctioneers and commission stable-keepers; but we are sorry to say
we have known men calling themselves gentlemen, who have not thought it
derogatory to accept a 'trifle' for their good offices in the cause.
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