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'Why, you might hunt the country with all this stabling,' observed Mr.
Sponge, as he entered the low door. 'One, two, three, four, five, six,
seven, eight, nine. Nine stalls, I declare,' added he, after counting them.
'My (puff) uncle used to (wheeze) a good deal of his own (puff) land,'
replied Jogglebury.
'Ah, well, I'll tell you what: these stables will be much better for being
occupied,' observed Mr. Sponge. 'And I'll tell you what I'll do for you.'
'But they _are_ occupied!' gasped Jogglebury, convulsively.
'Only half,' replied Mr. Sponge; 'or a quarter, I may say--not even that,
indeed. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll have my horses over here, and you
shall find them in straw in return for the manure, and just charge me for
hay and corn at market price, you know. That'll make it all square and
fair, and no obligation, you know. I hate obligations,' added he, eyeing
Jog's disconcerted face.
'Oh, but (puff, wheeze, gasp)--' exclaimed Jogglebury, reddening up--'I
don't (puff) know that I can (gasp) that.


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