Very glad to make
your 'quaintance,' tendering Sponge a great, rough, heavy hand. 'I was
goin' to call upon you,' observed the stranger, as he ceased swinging
Sponge's arm to and fro like a pump-handle; 'I was goin' to call upon you,
to see if you'd come over to Washingforde, and have some shootin' at me
Oncle's--Oncle Gilroy's, at Queercove Hill.'
'Most happy!' exclaimed Sponge, thinking it was the very thing he wanted.
'Get a day with the harriers, too, if you like,' continued the shooter,
increasing the temptation.
'Better still!' thought Sponge.
'I've only bachelor 'commodation to offer you; but p'raps you'll not mind
roughing it a bit?' observed Romford.
'Oh, faith, not I!' replied Sponge, thinking of the luxuries of
Puffington's bachelor habitation. 'What sort of stables have you?' asked
our friend.
'Capital stables--excellent stables!' replied the shooter; 'stalls six feet
in the clear, by twelve dip (deep), iron racks, oak stall-posts covered
with zinc, beautiful oats, capital beans, splendacious hay--won without a
shower!'
'Bravo!' exclaimed Sponge, thinking he had lit on his legs, and might snap
his fingers at Jog and his hints.
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