There are no people
so anxious to protect others from robbery as those who are robbing them
themselves. Mr. Sponge thought, and thought, and thought. At last he
resolved to write on the subject of the hounds. After sundry attempts on
pink, blue, and green-tinted paper, he at last succeeded in hitting off the
following, on yellow:
'NONSUCH HOUSE.
'DEAR SIR HARRY,--I rode over this morning, hearing you
were to hunt, and am sorry to find you indisposed. I wish you
would drop me a line to Mr. Crowdey's, Puddingpote Bower, saying
when next you go out, as I should much like to have another look
at your splendid pack before I leave this country, which I fear
will have to be soon.--Yours in haste,
'H. SPONGE.
'P.S.--I hope you all got safe home the other night from Mr.
Peastraw's.'
Having put this into a richly gilt and embossed envelope, our friend
directed it conspicuously to Sir Harry Scattercash, Bart., and stuck it in
the centre of the mantelpiece. He then retraced his steps through the back
regions, informing the sleeping beauty he had before disturbed, and who was
now busy scouring a pan, that he had left a letter in the drawing-room for
Sir Harry, and if she would see that he got it, he (Mr.
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