'Sir Harry at home?' asked Mr. Sponge, making the woman sensible of his
presence, by cracking his whip close to her ear. 'No,' replied the dame
gruffly, commencing an assault upon the nearest chair with a duster.
'Where is he?' asked our friend.
'Bed, to be sure,' replied the woman, in the same tone.
[Illustration: MR. SPONGE'S RED COAT COMMANDS NO RESPECT]
'Bed, to be sure,' repeated Mr. Sponge. 'I don't think there's any 'sure'
in the case. Do you know what o'clock it is?' asked he.
'No,' replied the woman, flopping away at another chair, and arranging the
crimson velvet curtains on the holders.
Mr. Sponge was rather nonplussed. His red coat did not command the respect
that a red coat generally does. The fact was, they had such queer people in
red coats at Nonsuch House, that a red coat was rather an object of
suspicion than otherwise.
'Well, but, my good woman,' continued Mr. Sponge, softening his tone, 'can
you tell me where I shall find anybody who can tell me anything about the
hounds?'
'No,' growled the woman, still flopping, and whisking, and knocking the
furniture about.
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