Sponge) would
remember her the next time he came, which he inwardly hoped would be soon.
He then made for the stable, and got his horse, to go home, sauntering more
leisurely along than one would expect of a man who had not got his
breakfast, especially one riding a hack hunter.
The truth was, Mr. Sponge did not much like the aspect of affairs. Sir
Harry's was evidently a desperately 'fast' house; added to which, the
guests by whom he was surrounded were clearly of the wide-awake order, who
could not spare any pickings for a stranger. Indeed, Mr. Sponge felt that
they rather cold-shouldered him at Farmer Peastraw's, and were in a greater
hurry to be off when the drag came, than the mere difference between inside
and outside seats required. He much questioned whether he got into Sir
Harry's at all. If it came to a vote, he thought he should not. Then, what
was he to do? Old Jog was clearly tired of him; and he had nowhere else to
go to. The thought made him stick spurs into the chestnut, and hurry home
to Puddingpote Bower, where he endeavoured to soothe his host by more than
insinuating that he was going on a visit to Nonsuch House.
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