Jack was snoring, with his great mouth wide open, and his grizzly head
enveloped in a white cotton nightcap. The noise of Pacey entering awoke
him.
'Well, old boy' growled he, turning over as soon as he saw who it was,
'what are you up to?'
'Oh, nothing particular,' replied Mr. Pacey, in a careless sort of tone.
'Then make yourself scarce, or I'll baptize you in a way you won't like,'
growled Jack, diving under the bedclothes.
'Oh, why I just wanted to have--have half a dozen words with you about our
last night's' (ha--hem--haw!) 'handicap, you know--about the horse, you
know.'
'About the w-h-a-w-t?' drawled Jack, as if perfectly ignorant of what Pacey
was talking about.
'About the horse, you know--about Mr. Sponge's horse, you know--that you
got me to challenge for you, you know,' stammered Pacey.
'Oh, dash it, the chap's drunk,' growled Jack aloud to himself, adding to
Pacey, 'you shouldn't get up so soon, man--sleep the drink off.'
Pacey stood nonplussed.
'Don't you remember, Mr. Spraggon,' at last asked he, after watching the
tassel of Jack's cap peeping above the bedclothes, 'what took place last
night, you know? You asked me to get you Mr.
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