'
'Is it a frost?' snapped Mr. Sponge, tired of his loquacity.
'Is it a frost?' repeated Mr. Leather thoughtfully; 'is it a frost? Vy, no;
I should say it _isn't_ a frost--at least, not a frost to 'urt; there may
be a little rind on the ground and a little rawness in the hair, but the
general concatenation--'
'Hout, tout!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, 'let's have none of your dictionary
words.'
Mr. Leather stood silent, twisting his hat about.
The consequence of all this was, that Mr. Sponge determined to ride over to
Nonsuch House to breakfast, which would give his horse half an hour in the
stable to eat a feed of corn. Accordingly, he desired Leather to bring him
his shaving-water, and have the horse ready in the stable in half an hour,
whither, in due time, Mr. Sponge emerged by the back door, without
encountering any of the family. The ambling piebald looked so crestfallen
and woebegone in all the swaddling-clothes in which Leather had got him
enveloped, that Mr. Sponge did not care to look at the gallant Hercules,
who occupied a temporary loose-box at the far end of the dark stable, lest
he might look worse.
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