Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

by Robert Smith Surtees

  CHAPTER XLVII

  A FAMILY BREAKFAST ON A HUNTING MORNING

  Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey was a good deal disconcerted at Gustavus James'sirreverence to his intended god-papa, and did her best, both by promisesand entreaties, to bring him to a more becoming state of mind. She promisedhim abundance of good things if he would astonish Mr. Sponge with some ofhis wonderful stories, and expatiated on Mr. Sponge's goodness in bringinghim the nice comfits, though Mrs. Jogglebury could not but in her heartblame them for some little internal inconvenience the wonder hadexperienced during the night. However, she brought him to breakfast inpretty good form, where he was cocked up in his high chair beside hismamma, the rest of the infantry occupying the position of the previous day,all under good-behaviour orders.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Sponge, not having been able to get himself up to hissatisfaction, was late in coming down; and when he did make his appearance,the unusual sight of a man in a red coat, a green tie, a blue vest, brownboots, &c., completely upset their propriety, and deranged the order of theyoung gentleman's performance. Mr. Sponge, too, conscious that he was late,was more eager for his breakfast than anxious to be astonished; so, whatwith repressing the demands of the youngster, watching that the others didnot break loose, and getting Jog and Mr. Sponge what they wanted, Mrs.Crowdey had her hands full. At last, having got them set a-going, she tooka lump of sugar out of the basin, and showing it to the wonder, laid itbeside her plate, whispering 'Now, my beauty!' into his ear, as sheadjusted him in his chair. The child, who had been wound up like a musicalsnuff-box, then went off as follows:

  'Bah, bah, back sheep, have 'ou any 'ool? Ess, marry, have I, three bags full; Un for ye master, un for ye dame, Un for ye 'ittle boy 'ot 'uns about ye 'are.'

  But unfortunately, Mr. Sponge was busy with his breakfast, and the prodigywasted his sweetness on the desert air.

  Mrs. Jogglebury, who had sat listening in ecstasies, saw the offended eyeand pouting lip of the boy, and attempted to make up with exclamations of'That _is_ a clever fellow! That _is_ a wonder!' at the same time showinghim the sugar.

  'A little more (puff) tea, my (wheeze) dear,' said Jogglebury, thrustinghis great cup up the table.

  'Hush! Jog, hush!' exclaimed Mrs. Crowdey, holding up her forefinger, andlooking significantly first at him, and then at the urchin.

  'Now, "Obin and Ichard," my darling,' continued she, addressing herselfcoaxingly to Gustavus James.

  'No, _not_ "Obin and Ichard,"' replied the child peevishly.

  'Yes, my darling, _do_, that's a treasure.'

  'Well, _my_ (puff) darling, give me some (wheeze) tea,' interposedJogglebury, knocking with his knuckles on the table.

  'Oh dear. Jog, you and your tea!--you're always wanting tea,' replied Mrs.Jogglebury snappishly.

  'Well, but, my (puff) dear, you forget that Mr. (wheeze) Sponge and I haveto be at (puff) Snobston Green at a (wheeze) quarter to eleven, and it'sgood twelve (gasp) miles off.'

  'Well, but it'll not take you long to get there,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury;'will it, Mr. Sponge?' continued she, again appealing to our friend.

  'Sure I don't know,' replied Sponge, eating away; 'Mr. Crowdey findsconveyance--I only find company.'

  Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey then prepared to pour her husband out another cupof tea, and the musical snuff-box, being now left to itself, went off ofits own accord with:

  'Diddle, diddle, doubt, My candle's out. My 'ittle dame's not at 'ome-- So saddle my hog, and bridle my And bring my 'ittle dame, 'ome.'

  A poem that in the original programme was intended to come in after 'Obinand Ichard,' which was to be the _chef-d'oeuvre_.

  Mrs. Jog was delighted, and found herself pouring the tea into thesugar-basin instead of into Jog's cup.

  Mr. Sponge, too, applauded. 'Well, that _was_ very clever,' said he,filling his mouth with cold ham.

  '"Saddle my dog, and bridle my hog"--I'll trouble you for another cup oftea,' addressing Mrs. Crowdey.

  'No, not "saddle my dog," sil-l-e-y man!' drawled the child, making a petlip: '"saddle my _hog_."'

  'Oh! "saddle my hog," was it?' replied Mr. Sponge, with apparent surprise;'I thought it was "saddle my dog." I'll trouble you for the sugar, Mrs.Jogglebury'; adding, 'you have devilish good cream here; how many cows haveyou?'

  'Cows (puff), cows (wheeze)?' replied Jogglebury; 'how many cows?' repeatedhe.

  'Oh, _two_,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury tartly, vexed at the interruption.

  'Pardon me (puff),' replied Jogglebury slowly and solemnly, with a fullblow into his frill; 'pardon me, Mrs. (puff) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey,but there are _three_ (wheeze).'

  'Not in milk. Jog--not in milk,' retorted Mrs. Crowdey.

  'Three cows, Mrs. (puff) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey, notwithstanding,'rejoined our host.

  'Well; but when people talk of cream, and ask how many cows you have, theymean in milk, _Mister_ Jogglebury Crowdey.'

  'Not necessarily. Mistress Jogglebury Crowdey,' replied the pertinaciousJog, with another heavy snort. 'Ah, now you're coming your fine poor-lawguardian knowledge,' rejoined his wife. Jog was chairman of theStir-it-stiff Union.

  While this was going on, young hopeful was sitting cocked up in his highchair, evidently mortified at the want of attention.

  Mrs. Crowdey saw how things were going, and turning from the cow question,endeavoured to re-engage him in his recitations.

  'Now, my angel!' exclaimed she, again showing him the sugar; 'tell us about"Obin and Ichard."'

  'No--not "Obin and Ichard,"' pouted the child.

  'Oh yes, my sweet, _do_, that's a good child; the gentleman in the prettycoat, who gives baby the nice things, wants to hear it.'

  'Come, out with it, young man!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, now putting a largepiece of cold beef into his mouth.

  'Not a 'ung man,' muttered the child, bursting out a-crying, and extendinghis little fat arms to his mamma.

  'No, my angel, not a 'ung man yet,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury, taking him outof the chair, and hugging him to her bosom.

  'He'll be a man before his mother for all that,' observed Mr. Sponge,nothing disconcerted by the noise.

  Jog had now finished his breakfast, and having pocketed three buns and twopieces of toast, with a thick layer of cold ham between them, looked at hisgreat warming-pan of a watch, and said to his guest, 'When you're (wheeze),I'm (puff).' So saying he got up, and gave his great legs one or twoconvulsive shakes, as if to see that they were on.

  Mrs. Jogglebury looked reproachfully at him, as much as to say, 'How _can_you behave so?'

  Mr. Sponge, as he eyed Jog's ill-made, queerly put on garments, wished thathe had not desired Leather to go to the meet. It would have been better tohave got the horses a little way off, and have shirked Jog, who did notlook like a desirable introducer to a hunting field.

  'I'll be with you directly,' replied Mr. Sponge, gulping down the remainsof his tea; adding, 'I've just got to run upstairs and get a cigar.' Sosaying, he jumped up and disappeared.

  Murry Ann, not approving of Sponge's smoking in his bedroom, had hid thecigar-case under the toilet cover, at the back of the glass, and it wassome time before he found it.

  Mrs. Jogglebury availed herself of the lapse of time, and his absence, topacify her young Turk, and try to coax him into reciting the marvellous'Obin and Ichard.'

  As Mr. Sponge came clanking downstairs with the cigar-case in his hand, shemet him (accidentally, of course) at the bottom, with the boy in her arms,and exclaimed, 'O Mr. Sponge, here's Gustavus James wants to tell you alittle story.'

  Mr. Sponge stopped--inwardly hoping that it would not be a long one.

  'Now, my darling,' said she, sticking the boy up straight to get him tobegin.

  'Now, then!' exclaimed Mr. Crowdey, in the true Jehu-like style, from thevehicle at the door, in which he had composed himself.

  'Coming, Jog! coming!' replied Mrs. Crowdey, with a frown on her brow atthe untimely interruption; then appealing ag
ain to the child, who wasnestling in his mother's bosom, as if disinclined to show off, she said,'Now, my darling, let the gentleman hear how nicely you'll say it.'

  The child still slunk.

  'That's a fine fellow, out with it!' said Mr. Sponge, taking up his hat tobe off.

  'Now, then!' exclaimed his host again.

  'Coming!' replied Mr. Sponge.

  As if to thwart him, the child then began, Mrs. Jogglebury holding up herforefinger as well in admiration as to keep silence:

  'Obin and Ichard, two pretty men, Lay in bed till 'e clock struck ten; Up starts Obin, and looks at the sky--'

  And then the brat stopped.

  'Very beautiful!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge; 'very beautiful! One of Moore's,isn't it? Thank you, my little dear, thank you,' added he, chucking himunder the chin, and putting on his hat to be off.

  'O, but stop, Mr. Sponge!' exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, 'you haven't heard itall--there's more yet.'

  Then turning to the child, she thus attempted to give him the cue.

  'O, ho! bother--'

  'Now, then! time's hup!' again shouted Jogglebury into the passage.

  'O dear, Mr. Jogglebury, will you hold your stoopid tongue!' exclaimed she,adding, 'you certainly are the most tiresome man under the sun.' She thenturned to the child with:

  'O ho! bother Ichard' again.

  But the child was mute, and Mr. Sponge fearing, from some indistinctgrowling that proceeded from the carriage, that a storm was brewing,endeavoured to cut short the entertainment by exclaiming:

  'Wonderful two-year-old! Pity he's not in the Darby. Dare say he'll tell methe rest when I come back.'

  But this only added fuel to the fire of Mrs. Jogglebury's ardour, and madeher more anxious that Sponge should not lose a word of it. Accordingly shegave the fat dumpling another jerk up on her arm, and repeated:

  'O ho! bother Ichard, the--What's very high?' asked Mrs. Joggleburycoaxingly.

  'Sun's very high,'

  replied the child.

  'Yes, my darling!' exclaimed the delighted mamma. Mrs. Jogglebury thenproceeded with:

  'Ou go before--' CHILD.--'With bottle and bag,' MAMMA.--'And I'll follow after--' CHILD.--'With 'ittle Jack Nag.'

  'Well now, that _is_ wonderful!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, hurrying on hisdog-skin gloves, and wishing both Obin and Ichard farther.

  'Isn't it!' exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, in ecstasies; then addressing thechild, she said, 'Now that _is_ a good boy--that _is_ a fine fellow. Nowcouldn't he say it all over by himself, doesn't he think?' Mrs. Joggleburylooking at Sponge, as if she was meditating the richest possible treat forhim.

  'Oh,' replied Mr. Sponge, quite tired of the detention, 'he'll tell me itwhen I return--he'll tell me it when I return,' at the same time giving thechild another parting chuck under the chin. But the child was not to be putoff in that way, and instead of crouching, and nestling, and hiding itsface, it looked up quite boldly, and after a little hesitation went through'Obin and Ichard,' to the delight of Mrs. Jogglebury, the mortification ofSponge, and the growling denunciations of old Jog, who still kept his placein the vehicle. Mr. Sponge could not but stay the poem out.

  At last they got started, Jog driving. Sponge occupying the low seat, Jog'sflail and Sponge's cane whip-stick stuck in the straps of the apron. Jogwas very crusty at first, and did little but whip and flog the old horse,and puff and growl about being late, keeping people waiting, over-drivingthe horse, and so on.

  'Have a cigar?' at last asked Sponge, opening the well-filled case, andtendering that olive branch to his companion.

  'Cigar (wheeze), cigar (puff)?' replied Jog, eyeing the case; 'why, no,p'raps not, I think (wheeze), thank'e.'

  'Do you never smoke?' asked Sponge.

  '(Puff--wheeze) Not often,' replied Jogglebury, looking about him with anair of indifference. He did not like to say no, because Springwheat smoked,though Mrs. Springey highly disapproved of it.

  'You'll find them very mild,' observed Sponge, taking one out for himself,and again tendering the case to his friend.

  'Mild (wheeze), mild (puff), are they?' said Jog, thinking he would tryone.

  Mr. Sponge then struck a light, and, getting his own cigar well under way,lit one for his friend, and presented it to him. They then went puffing,and whipping, and smoking in silence. Jog spoke first. 'I'm going to be(puff) sick,' observed he, slowly and solemnly.

  'Hope not,' replied Mr. Sponge, with a hearty whiff, up into the air.

  'I _am_ going to be (puff) sick,' observed Jog, after another pause.

  'Be sick on your own side, then,' replied Sponge, with another heartywhiff.

  'By the (puff) powers! I _am_ (puff) sick!' exclaimed Jogglebury, afteranother pause, and throwing away the cigar. 'Oh, dear!' exclaimed he, 'youshouldn't have given me that nasty (puff) thing.'

  'My dear fellow, I didn't know it would make you sick,' replied Mr. Sponge.

  'Well, but (puff) if they (wheeze) other people sick, in all (puff)probability they'll (wheeze) me. There!' exclaimed he, pulling up again.

  The delays occasioned by these catastrophes, together with the time lost by'Obin and Ichard,' threw our sportsmen out considerably. When they reachedChalkerley Gate it wanted ten minutes to eleven, and they had still threemiles to go.

  'We shall be late,' observed Sponge inwardly denouncing 'Obin and Ichard.'

  'Shouldn't wonder,' replied Jog, adding, with a puff into his frill,'consequences of making me sick, you see.'

  'My dear fellow, if you don't know your own stomach by this time, you didought to do,' replied Mr. Sponge.

  'I (puff) flatter myself I _do_ (wheeze) my own stomach,' repliedJogglebury tartly.

  They then rumbled on for some time in silence.

  When they came within sight of Snobston Green, the coast was clear. Not ared coat, or hunting indication of any sort, was to be seen.

  'I told you so (puff)!' growled Jog, blowing full into his frill, andpulling up short.

  'They be gone to Hackberry Dean,' said an old man, breaking stones by theroadside.

  'Hackberry Dean (puff)--Hackberry Dean (wheeze)!' replied Jog thoughtfully;'then we must (puff) by Tollarton Mill, and through the (wheeze) village toStewley?' 'Y-e-a-z,' drawled the man.

  Jog then drove on a few paces, and turned up a lane to the left, whosefinger-post directed the road 'to Tollarton.' He seemed less disconcertedthan Sponge, who kept inwardly anathematizing, not only 'Obin and Ichard,'but 'Diddle, diddle, doubt'--'Bah, bah, black sheep'--the whole tribe ofnursery ballads, in short.

  The fact was, Jog wanted to be into Hackberry Dean, which was full of fine,straight hollies, fit either for gibbeys or whip-sticks, and the houndsbeing there gave him the entree. It was for helping himself there, withoutthis excuse, that he had been 'county-courted,' and he did not care torenew his acquaintance with the judge. He now whipped and jagged the oldnag, as if intent on catching the hounds. Mr. Sponge liberated his whipfrom the apron-straps, and lent a hand when Jog began to flag. So theyrattled and jingled away at an amended pace. Still it seemed to Mr. Spongeas if they would never get there. Having passed through Tollarton, andcleared the village of Stewley, Mr. Sponge strained his eyes in everydirection where there was a bit of wood, in hopes of seeing something ofthe hounds. Meanwhile Jog was shuffling his little axe from below thecushion of the driving-seat into the pocket of his great-coat. All of asudden he pulled up, as they were passing a bank of wood (Hackberry Dean),and handing the reins to his companion, said:

  'Just lay hold for a minute whilst I (puff) out.'

  'What's happened?' asked Sponge. 'Not sick again, are you?'

  'No (puff), not exactly (wheeze) sick, but I want to be out all the (puff)same.'

  So saying, out he bundled, and, crushing through the fern-grown woodbineyfence, darted into the wood in a way that astonished our hero. Presentlythe chop, chop, chop of the axe revealed the mystery.

  'By the powers, the fool's at his sticks!' excla
imed Sponge, disgusted atthe contretemps. 'Mister Jogglebury!' roared he, 'Mister Jogglebury, weshall never catch up the hounds at this rate!'

  But Jog was deaf--chop, chop, chop was all the answer Mr. Sponge got.

  'Well, hang me if ever I saw such a fellow!' continued Sponge, thinking hewould drive on if he only knew the way.

  'Chop, chop, chop,' continued the axe.

  'Mister Jogglebury! Mister Jogglebury Crowdey _a-hooi_!' roared Sponge, atthe top of his voice.

  MR. JOGGLEBURY CROWDEY ON HIS HOBBY]

  The axe stopped. 'Anybody comin'?' resounded from the wood.

  '_You come_,' replied Mr. Sponge.

  'Presently,' was the answer; and the chop, chop, chopping was resumed.

  'The man's mad,' muttered Mr. Sponge, throwing himself back in the seat.At length Jog appeared brushing and tearing his way out of the wood, withtwo fine hollies under his arm. He was running down with perspiration, andlooked anxiously up and down the road as he blundered through the fence tosee if there was any one coming.

  'I really think (puff) this will make a four-in-hander (wheeze),' exclaimedhe, as he advanced towards the carriage, holding a holly so as to show itsfull length--'not that I (puff, wheeze, gasp) do much in that (puff,wheeze) line, but really it is such a (puff, wheeze) beauty that I couldn't(puff, wheeze, gasp) resist it.'

  'Well, but I thought we were going to hunt,' observed Mr. Sponge dryly.

  'Hunt (puff)! so we are (wheeze); but there are no hounds (gasp). My good(puff) man,' continued he, addressing a smock-frocked countryman, who nowcame up, 'have you seen anything of the (wheeze) hounds?'

  'E-e-s,' replied the man. 'They be gone to Brookdale Plantin'.'

  'Then we'd better (puff) after them,' said Jog, running the stick throughthe apron-straps, and bundling into the phaeton with the long one in hishand.

  Away they rattled and jingled as before.

  'How far is it?' asked Mr. Sponge, vexed at the detention.

  'Oh (puff), close by (wheeze),' replied Jog.

  'Close by,' as most of our sporting readers well know to their cost, isgenerally anything but close by. Nor was Jog's close by, close by on thisoccasion.

  'There,' said Jog, after they had got crawled up Trampington Hill; 'that'sit (puff) to the right, by the (wheeze) water there,' pointing to aplantation about a mile off, with a pond shining at the end.

  Just as Mr. Sponge caught view of the water, the twang of a horn was heard,and the hounds came pouring, full cry, out of cover, followed by abouttwenty variously clad horsemen, and our friend had the satisfaction ofseeing them run clean out of sight, over as fine a country as ever wascrossed. Worst of all, he thought he saw Leather pounding away on thechestnut.