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Most palpable Marsala did duty for sherry, and
the corked port was again in requisition. Jawleyford was no longer the
brisk, cheery-hearted Jawleyford of Laverick Wells, but a crusty, fidgety,
fire-stirring sort of fellow, desperately given to his _Morning Post_.
Worst of all, when Mr. Sponge retired to his den to smoke a cigar and study
his dear cab fares, he was so suffocated with smoke that he was obliged to
put out the fire, notwithstanding the weather was cold, indeed inclining to
frost. He lit his cigar notwithstanding; and, as he indulged in it, he ran
all the circumstances of his situation through his mind. His pressing
invitation--his magnificent reception--the attention of the ladies--and now
the sudden change everything had taken. He couldn't make it out, somehow;
but the consequences were plain enough. 'The fellow's a humbug,' at length
said he, throwing the cigar-end away, and turning into bed, when the
information Watson the keeper gave him on arriving recurred to his mind,
and he was satisfied that Jawleyford was a humbug.


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