Sponge's room while Murry
Ann was doing it out, had torn the back off Sponge's _Mogg_, and made such
a mess of his tooth-brush, by cleaning his shoes with it, as never was
seen.
Mr. Sponge soon began to think it was not worth while staying at
Puddingpote Bower for the mere sake of his keep, seeing there was no
hunting to be had from it, and it did not do to keep hack hunters idle,
especially in open weather. Leather and he, for once, were of the same
opinion, and that worthy shook his head, and said Mr. Crowdey was 'awful
mean,' at the same time pulling out a sample of bad ship oats, that he had
got from a neighbouring ostler, to show the 'stuff' their 'osses' were a
eatin' of. The fact was, Jog's beer was nothing like so strong as Mr.
Puffington's; added to which, Mr. Crowdey carried the principles of the
poor-law union into his own establishment, and dieted his servants upon
certain rules. Sunday, roast beef, potatoes, and pudding under the meat;
Monday, fried beef, and stick-jaw (as they profanely called a certain
pudding); Wednesday, leg of mutton, and so on.
Pages:
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700