Leather, though somewhat muzzy, was sufficiently sober to be able to
deliver this message, and acquaint Mr. Sponge with the impossibility of his
'ridin' the 'ack.' Indeed, he truly said that he had 'been hup with him all
night, and at one time thought it was all hover with him,' the
all-overishness consisting of Mr. Leather being nearly all over the hack's
head, in consequence of the animal shying at another drunken man lying
across the road.
Mr. Sponge listened to the recital with the indifference of a man who rides
hack-horses, and coolly observed that Leather must take on the chestnut,
and he would ride the brown to cover.
'Couldn't, sir, couldn't,' replied Leather, with a shake of the head and a
twinkle of his roguish, watery grey eyes.
'Why not?' asked Mr. Sponge, who never saw any difficulty.
'Oh, sur,' replied Leather, in a tone of despondency, 'it would be quite
unpossible. Consider wot a day the last one was; why, he didn't get to rest
till three the next mornin'.'
'It'll only be walking exercise,' observed Mr.
Pages:
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789