Mr. Sponge then became still more at home. It was very soon 'my hounds,'
and 'my horses,' and 'my whips'; and he wrote to Jawleyford, and
Puffington, and Guano, and Lumpleg, and Washball, and Spraggon, offering to
make meets to suit their convenience, and even to mount them if required.
His _Mogg_ was quite neglected in favour of Lucy; and it says much for the
influence of female charms that, before they had been engaged a fortnight,
he, who had been a perfect oracle in cab fares, would have been puzzled to
tell the most ordinary fare on the most frequented route. He had forgotten
all about them. Nevertheless, Lucy and he went out hunting as often as they
could raise hounds, and when they had a good run and killed, he saluted
her; and when they didn't kill, why--he just did the same. He headed and
tailed the stringing pack, drafted the skirters and babblers (which he sent
to Lord Scamperdale, with his compliments), and presently had the uneven
kennel in something like shape.
[Illustration]
Nor was this the only way in which he made himself useful, for Nonsuch
House being now supported almost entirely by voluntary contributions--that
is to say, by the gullibility of tradesmen--his street and shop knowledge
was valuable in determining who to 'do.
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