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Sponge's room, which was midway between the
speakers.
What prevented Mr. Sponge wheezing away, will appear in the next chapter.


CHAPTER L
SIR HARRY SCATTERCASH'S HOUNDS

[Illustration]
The reason Mr. Sponge did not take his departure, after the pretty
intelligible hint given by his host, was that, as he was passing his
shilling army razor over his soapy chin, he saw a stockingless lad, in a
purply coat and faded hunting-cap, making his way up to the house, at a
pace that betokened more than ordinary vagrancy. It was the kennel, stable,
and servants' hall courier of Nonsuch House, come to say that Sir Harry
hunted that day.
Presently Mr. Leather knocked at Mr. Sponge's bedroom door, and, being
invited in, announced the fact.
'Sir 'Arry's 'ounds 'unt,' said he, twisting the door handle as he spoke.
'What time?' asked Mr. Sponge, with his half-shaven face turned towards
him.
'Meet at eleven,' replied Leather.
'Where?' inquired Mr. Sponge.
'Nonsuch House, 'bout nine miles off.'
It was thirteen, but Mr.


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