Digital primer

_I'll_ tell you what we'll do--_I'll_ tell
you what we'll do. You shall drive me over in that shandrydan-rattle-trap
thing of yours'--Sponge looking out of the window, as he spoke, at the
queer-shaped, jumped-together, lack-lustre-looking vehicle, with a
turnover seat behind, now in charge of a pepper-and-salt attired youth,
with a shabby hat, looped up by a thin silver cord to an acorn on the
crown, and baggy Berlin gloves--'and I'll just see what there is in the way
of stabling; and if I think it will do, then I'll give a boy sixpence or a
shilling to come over to Leather, here,' jerking his head towards his
factotum; 'if it won't do, why then--'
'We shall want _three_ stalls, sir--recollect, sir, 'interrupted Leather,
who did not wish to move his quarters.
'True, I forgot,' replied Sponge, with a frown at his servant's
officiousness; 'however, if we can get two good stalls for the hunters,'
said he, 'we'll manage the hack somehow or other.'
'Well,' replied Mr. Leather, in a tone of resignation, knowing how hopeless
it was arguing with his master.


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