'Nine miles--nine miles,' muttered Mr. Sponge to himself, as he passed
through the Lodge and turned up the Quarryburn road; 'do it in an hour well
enough,' said he, sticking spurs into the hack, and cantering away.
Having kept this pace up for about five miles, till he thought from the
view he had taken of the map it was about time to be turning, he hailed a
blacksmith in his shop, who, next to saddlers, are generally the most
intelligent people about hounds, and asked how far it was to Sir Harry's?
'Eight miles,' replied the man, in a minute. 'Impossible!' exclaimed Mr.
Sponge. 'It was only nine at starting, and I've come I don't know how
many.'
The next person Mr. Sponge met told him it was ten miles; the third, after
asking him where he had come from, said he was a stranger in the country,
and had never heard of the place; and, what with Mr. Leather's original
mis-statement, misdirections from other people, and mistakes of his own, it
was more good luck than good management that got Mr. Sponge to Nonsuch
House in time.
Pages:
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705