She
has made Mr. Sponge a white silk jacket to ride in, which he has on under
his grey tarriar coat, and a cap of the same colour is in his hard hat. He
has discarded the gosling-green cords for cream-coloured leathers, and, to
please Lucy, has actually substituted a pair of rose-tinted tops for the
'hogany bouts'. Altogether he is a great swell, and very like the
bridegroom.
But hark--what a crash! The leaders of Sir Harry Scattercash's drag start
at a blind fiddler's dog stationed at the gate leading into the fields, a
wheel catches the post, and in an instant the sham captains are scattered
about the road: Bouncey on his head, Seedeyhuck across the wheelers, Quod
on his back, and Sir Harry astride the gate. Meanwhile, the old fiddler,
regardless of the shouts of the men and the shrieks of the ladies, scrapes
away with the appropriate tune of 'The Devil among the Tailors!' A rush to
the horses' heads arrests further mischief, the dislodged captains are at
length righted, the nerves of the ladies composed, and Sir Harry once more
essays to drive them up the hill to the stand.
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