Accordingly he sought Mr. Leather, whom he found busily engaged in the
servants' apartment, with a cold round of beef and a foaming flagon of ale
before him.
'Leather,' he said, in a tone of authority, 'I'll hunt to-morrow--ride the
horse I should have ridden to-day.'
'Where at?' asked Leather, diving his fork into a bottle of pickles, and
fishing out an onion.
'The cross-roads,' replied Sponge.
'The cross-roads be fifty miles from here!' cried Leather.
'Nonsense!' rejoined Sponge; 'I've just measured the distance. It's nothing
of the sort.'
'How far do you make it, then?' asked Leather, tucking in the beef.
'Why, from here to Hardington is about six, and from Hardington to Bewley,
four--ten in all,' replied Sponge. 'You can stay at Bewley all night, and
then it is but a few miles on in the morning.'
'And whativer am I to do for clothin'?' asked Leather, adding, 'I've
nothin' with me--nothin' nouther for oss nor man.'
'Oh, the ostler'll lend you what you want,' replied Sponge, in a tone of
determination, adding, 'you can make shift for one night surely?'
'One night surely!' retorted Leather.
Pages:
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414