CHAPTER XXXIX
Writing A Run
letter T]
The first fumes of excitement over, after a run with a kill, the fieldbegin to take things more coolly and veraciously, and ere long some of thembegin to pick holes in the affair. The men of the hunt run it up, whilethose of the next hunt run it down. Added to this there are generally somecavilling, captious fellows in every field who extol a run to the master'sface, and abuse it behind his back. So it was on the present occasion. Themen of the hunt--Charley Slapp, Lumpleg, Guano, Crane, Washball, andothers--lauded and magnified it into something magnificent; while Fossick,Fyle, Wake, Blossomnose, and others of the 'Flat Hat Hunt,' pronounced it aniceish thing--a pretty burst; and Mr. Vosper, who had hunted forfive-and-twenty seasons without ever subscribing one farthing to hounds,always declaring that each season was 'his last,' or that he was going toconfine himself entirely to some other pack, said it was nothing to make arow about, that he had seen fifty better things with the Tingleburyharriers, and never a word said.
'Well,' said Sponge to Spraggon, between the whiffs of a cigar, as theyrode together; 'it wasn't so bad, was it?'
'Bad!--no,' squinted Jack, 'devilish good--for Puff, at least,' adding, 'Iquestion he's had a better this season.'
'Well, we are in luck,' observed Tom Washball, riding up and joining them;'we are in luck to have a satisfactory thing with you great connoisseursout.'
'A pretty thing enough,' replied Jack, 'pretty thing enough.'
'Oh, I don't mean to say it's equal to many we've had this season,' repliedWashball; 'nothing like the Boughton Hill day, nor yet the Hembury Forestone; but still, considering the meet and the state of the country--'
'Hout! the country's good enough,' growled Jack, who hated Washball;adding, 'a good fox makes any country good'; with which observation hesidled up to Sponge, leaving Washball in the middle of the road.
'That reminds me,' said Jack, _sotto voce_ to Sponge, 'that the critturwants his run puffed, and he thinks you can do it.'
'Me!' exclaimed Sponge, 'what's put that in his head?'
'Why, you see,' exclaimed Jack, 'the first time you came out with ourhounds at Dundleton Tower, you'll remember--or rather, the first time wesaw you, when your horse ran away with you--somebody, Fyle, I think itwas, said you were a literary cove; and Puff, catchin' at the idea, hasnever been able to get rid of it since: and the fact is, he'd like to beflattered--he'd be uncommonly pleased if you were to "soft sawder" himhandsomely.'
'_Me!_' exclaimed Sponge; 'bless your heart, man, I can't writeanything--nothing fit to print, at least.'
'Hout, fiddle!' retorted Spraggon, 'you can write as well as any other man;see what lots of fellows write, and nobody ever finds fault.'
'But the spellin' bothers one,' replied Sponge, with a shake of his elbowand body, as if the idea was quite out of the question.
'Hang the spellin',' muttered Jack, 'one can always borrow a dictionary; orlet the man of the paper--the editor, as they call him--smooth out thespellin'. You say at the end of your letter, that your hands are cold, oryour hand aches with holdin' a pullin' horse, and you'll thank him tocorrect any inadvertencies--you needn't call them errors, you know.'
'But where's the use of it?' exclaimed Sponge; 'it'll do us no good, youknow, praisin' Puff's pack, or himself, or anything about him.'
'That's just the point,' said Jack, 'that's just the point. I can make itanswer both our purposes,' said he, with a nudge of the elbow, and aninside-out squint of his eyes.
'Oh, that's another matter,' replied our friend; 'if we can turn the thingto account, well and good--I'm your man for a shy.'
'We _can_ turn it to account,' rejoined Jack; 'we _can_ turn it toaccount--at least _I_ can; but then you must do it. He wouldn't take it asany compliment from me. It's the stranger that sees all things in theirtrue lights. D'ye understand?' asked he eagerly.
'I twig,' replied Sponge.
'You write the account,' continued Jack, 'and I'll manage the rest.'
'You must help me,' observed Sponge.
'Certainly,' replied Jack; 'we'll do it together, and go halves in theplunder.'
'Humph,' mused Sponge: 'halves,' said he to himself. 'And what will yougive me for my half?' asked he.
'Give you!' exclaimed Jack, brightening up. 'Give you! Let me see,'continued he, pretending to consider--'Puff's rich--Puff's a liberalfellow--Puff's a conceited beggar--mix it strong,' said Jack, 'and I'llgive you ten pounds.'
'Make it twelve,' replied Sponge, after a pause.
If Jack had said twelve. Sponge would have asked fourteen.
'Couldn't,' said Jack, with a shake of the head; 'it really isn't with(worth) the money.'
The two then rode on in silence for some little distance.
'I'll tell you what I'll do,' said Jack, spurring his horse, and trottingup the space that the other had now shot ahead. 'I'll split the differencewith you!'
'Well, give me the sov.,' said Sponge, holding out his hand for earnest.
'Why, I haven't a sov. upon me,' replied Jack; 'but, honour bright, I'll dowhat I say.'
'Give me eleven golden sovereigns for my chance,' repeated Sponge slowly,in order that there might be no mistake.
'Eleven golden sovereigns for your chance,' repeated Jack.
'Done!' replied Sponge.
'Done!' repeated Jack.
'Let's jog on and do it at once while the thing's fresh in our minds,' saidJack, working his horse into a trot.
Sponge did the same; and the grass-siding of Orlantire Parkwall favouringtheir design, they increased the trot to a canter. They soon passed thepark's bounds, and entering upon one of those rarities--an unenclosedcommon, angled its limits so as to escape the side-bar, and turning upFarningham Green lane, came out upon the Kingsworth and Swillingfordturnpike within sight of Hanby House.
'We'd better pull up and walk the horses gently in, p'raps,' observedSponge, reining his in.
'Ah! I was only wantin' to get home before the rest,' observed Jack,pulling up too.
They then proceeded more leisurely together.
'We'd better get into one of our bedrooms to do it,' observed Jack, as theypassed the lodge. 'Just so,' replied Sponge, adding, 'I dare say we shallwant all the quiet we can get.'
'Oh no!' said Jack; 'the thing's simple enough--met at such a place--foundat such another--killed at so and so.'
'Well, I hope it will,' said Sponge, riding into the stable-yard, andresigning his steed to the care of his groom.
Jack did the same by Sponge's other horse, which he had been riding, and inreply to Leather's inquiry (who stood with his right hand ready, as if toshake hands with him), 'how the horse had carried him?' replied:
'Cursed ill,' and stamped away without giving him anything.
'Ah, _you're_ a gen'leman, you are,' muttered Leather, as he led the horseaway. 'Now, come!' exclaimed Jack to Sponge, 'come! let's get in beforeany of those bothersome fellows come'; adding, as he dived into a passage,'I'll show you the back way.'
After passing a scullery, a root-house, and a spacious entrance-hall, upona table in which stood the perpetual beer-jug and bread-basket, a greenbaize door let them into the regions of upper service, and passing thedashed carpets of the housekeeper's room and butler's pantry, a red baizedoor let them into the far-side of the front entrance. Having depositedtheir hats and whips, they bounded up the richly carpeted staircase totheir rooms.
Hanby House, as we have already said, was splendidly furnished. All thegrandeur did not run to the entertaining rooms; but each particularapartment, from the state bedroom down to the smallest bachelor snuggery,was replete with elegance and comfort.
Like many houses, however, the bedrooms possessed every imaginable luxuryexcept boot-jacks and pens that would write. In Sponge's room for instance,there were hip-baths, and foot-baths, a shower-bath, and hot and cold bathsadjoining, and mirrors innumerable; an eight-day mantel-clock, by Moline ofGeneva, that struck the hours, half-hours, and quar
ters: cut-glass toiletcandlesticks, with silver sconces; an elegant zebra-wood cabinet; also abeautiful davenport of zebra-wood, with a plate-glass back, containing apen rug worked on silver ground, an ebony match box, a blue crystal,containing a sponge pen-wiper, a beautiful envelope-case, a white-cornelianseal, with 'Hanby House' upon it, wax of all colours, papers of alltextures, envelopes without end--every imaginable requirement ofcorrespondence except a pen that would write. There _were_ pens,indeed--there almost always are--but they were miserable apologies ofthings; some were mere crow-quills--sort of cover-hacks of pens, whileothers were great, clumsy, heavy-heeled, cart-horse sort of things, clottedup to the hocks with ink, or split all the way through--vexatiousapologies, that throw a person over just at the critical moment, when hehas got his sheet prepared and his ideas all ready to pour upon paper;then splut--splut--splutter goes the pen, and away goes the train ofthought. Bold is the man who undertakes to write his letters in his bedroomwith country-house pens. But, to our friends. Jack and Sponge slept nextdoor to each other; Sponge, as we have already said, occupying thestate-room, with its canopy-topped bedstead, carved and panelled sides, andelegant chintz curtains lined with pink, and massive silk-and-bulliontassels; while Jack occupied the dressing-room, which was the state bedroomin miniature, only a good deal more comfortable. The rooms communicatedwith double doors, and our friends very soon effected a passage.
'Have you any 'baccy?' asked Jack, waddling in in his slippers, afterhaving sucked off his tops without the aid of a boot-jack.
'There's some in my jacket pocket,' replied Sponge, nodding to where ithung in the wardrobe; 'but it won't do to smoke here, will it?' asked he.
'Why not?' inquired Jack.
'Such a fine room,' replied Sponge, looking around.
'Oh, fine be hanged!' replied Jack, adding, as he made for the jacket, 'noplace too fine for smokin' in.'
Having helped himself to one of the best cigars, and lighted it, Jackcomposed himself cross-legged in an easy, spring, stuffed chair, whileSponge fussed about among the writing implements, watering and stirring upthe clotted ink, and denouncing each pen in succession, as he gave it theinitiatory trial in writing the word 'Sponge.'
'Curse the pens!' exclaimed he, throwing the last bright crisp yellow thingfrom him in disgust. 'There's not one among 'em that can go!--all reg'larlystumped up.'
'Haven't you a penknife?' asked Jack, taking the cigar out of his mouth.
'Not I,' replied Sponge.
'Take a razor, then,' said Jack, who was good at an expedient.
'I'll take one of yours,' said Sponge, going into the dressing-room forone. 'Hang it, but you're rather too sharp,' exclaimed Jack, with a shakeof his head.
'It's more than your razor 'll be when I'm done with it,' replied Sponge.
Having at length, with the aid of Jack's razor, succeeded in getting a penthat would write, Mr. Sponge selected a sheet of best cream-laid satinpaper, and, taking a cane-bottomed chair, placed himself at the table in anattitude for writing. Dipping the fine yellow pen in the ink, he looked inJack's face for an idea. Jack, who had now got well advanced in the cigar,sat squinting through his spectacles at our scribe, though apparentlylooking at the top of the bed.
'Well?' said Sponge, with a look of inquiry.
'Well,' replied Jack, in a tone of indifference.
'How shall I begin?' asked Sponge, twirling the pen between his fingers,and spluttering the ink over the paper.
'Begin!' replied Jack, 'begin, oh, begin, just as you usually begin.'
'As a letter?' asked Sponge.
'I 'spose so,' replied Jack; 'how would you think?'
'Oh, I don't know,' replied Sponge. 'Will _you_ try your hand?' added he,holding out the pen.
'Why, I'm busy just now, you see,' said he, pointing to his cigar, 'andthat horse of yours' (Jack had ridden the redoubtable chestnut,Multum-in-Parvo, who had gone very well in the company of Hercules) pulledso confoundedly that I've almost lost the use of my fingers,' continued he,working away as if he had got the cramp in both hands; 'but I'll promptyou,' added he, 'I'll prompt you.'
'Why don't you begin then?' asked Sponge.
'Begin!' exclaimed Jack, taking the cigar from his lips; 'begin!' repeatedhe, 'oh, I'll begin directly--didn't know you were ready.'
Jack then threw himself back in his chair, and sticking out his littlebandy legs, turned the whites of his eyes up to the ceiling, as if lost inmeditation.
'Begin,' said he, after a pause, 'begin, "This splendid pack had a stunningrun."'
'But we must put _what_ pack first,' observed Sponge, writing the words'Mr. Puffington's hounds' at the top of the paper. 'Well,' said he, writingon, 'this stunning pack had a splendid run.'
'No, not stunning _pack_,' growled Jack, '_splendid_ pack--"this splendidpack had a stunning run."'
'Stop!' exclaimed Sponge, writing it down; 'well,' said he looking up,'I've got it.'
'This stunning pack had a splendid run,' repeated Jack, squinting away atthe ceiling.
'I thought you said _splendid_ pack,' observed Sponge.
'So I did,' replied Jack.
'You said stunning just now,' rejoined he.
'Ah, that was a slip of the tongue,' said Jack. 'This splendid pack had astunning run,' repeated Jack, appealing again to his cigar for inspiration;'well, then,' said he, after a pause, 'you just go on as usual, you know,'continued he, with a flourish of his great red hand.
'As usual!' exclaimed Sponge, 'you don't s'pose one's pen goes of itself.'
'Why, no,' replied Jack, knocking the ashes off his cigar on to thearabesque-patterned tapestry carpet--'why, no, not exactly; but thesethings, you know, are a good deal matter of course; just describe what yousaw, you know, and butter Puff well, that's the main point.'
'But you forget,' replied Sponge, 'I don't know the country, I don't knowthe people, I don't know anything at all about the run--I never once lookedat the hounds.'
'That's nothin',' replied Jack, 'there'd be plenty like you in thatrespect. However,' continued he, gathering himself up in his chair as iffor an effort, 'you can say--let me see what you can say--you can say,"this splendid pack had a stunning run from Hollyburn Hanger, the propertyof its truly popular master, Mr. Puffington," or--stop,' said Jack,checking himself, 'say, "the property of its truly popular and sportingmaster, Mr. Puffington." The cover's just as much mine as it's his,'observed Jack; 'it belongs to old Sir Timothy Tensthemain, who's vegetatingat Boulogne-sur-Mer, but Puff says he'll buy it when it comes to thehammer, so we'll flatter him by considering it his already, just as weflatter him by calling him a sportsman--_sportsman_!' added Jack, with asneer, 'he's just as much taste for the thing as a cow.'
'Well,' said Sponge, looking up, 'I've got "truly popular and sportingmaster, Mr. Puffington,"' adding, 'hadn't we better say something about themeet and the grand spread here before we begin with the run?'
'True,' replied Jack, after a long-drawn whiff and another adjustment ofthe end of his cigar; 'say that "a splendid field of well-appointedsportsmen"--'
'A splendid field of well-appointed sportsmen,' wrote Sponge.
'"Among whom we recognized several distinguished strangers and members ofLord Scamperdale's hunt." That means you and I,' observed Jack.
'"Of Lord Scamperdale's hunt--that means you and I"'--read Sponge, as hewrote it.
'But you're not to put in that; you're not to write "that means you and I,"my man,' observed Jack.
'Oh, I thought that was part of the sentence,' replied Sponge.
'No, no,' said Jack; 'I meant to say that you and I were the distinguishedstrangers and members of Lord Scamperdale's hunt; but that's betweenourselves, you know.'
'Good,' said Sponge; 'then I'll strike that out,' running his pen throughthe words 'that means you and I.' 'Now get on,' said he, appealing to Jack,adding, 'we've a deal to do yet.'
'Say,' said Jack, '"after partaking of the well-known profuse and splendidhospitality of Hanby House, they proceeded at once to Ho
llyburn Hanger,where a fine seasoned fox--though some said he was a bag one--"'
'Did they?' exclaimed Sponge, adding, 'well, I thought he went away ratherqueerly.'
'Oh, it was only old Bung the brewer, who runs down every run he doesn'tride.'
'Well, never mind,' replied Sponge, 'we'll make the best of it, whatever itwas'; writing away as he spoke, and repeating the words 'bag one' as hepenned them.
'"Broke away,"' continued Jack:
'"In view of the whole field,"' added Sponge. 'Just so,' assented Jack.
'"Every hound scoring to cry, and making the "--the--the--what d'ye callthe thing?' asked Jack.
'Country,' suggested Sponge.
'No,' replied Jack, with a shake of the head.
'Hill and dale?' tried Sponge again.
'Welkin!' exclaimed Jack, hitting it off himself--'"makin' the welkin ringwith their melody!" makin' the welkin ring with their melody,' repeated he,with exultation.
'Capital!' observed Sponge, as he wrote it.
'Equal to Littlelegs,'[2] said Jack, squinting his eyes inside out.
'We'll make a grand thing of it,' observed Sponge.
'So we will,' replied Jack, adding, 'if we had but a book of po'try we'dweave in some lines here. You haven't a book o' no sort with you that wecould prig a little po'try from?' asked he.
'No,' replied Sponge thoughtfully. 'I'm afraid not; indeed, I'm sure not.I've got nothin' but _Mogg's Cab Fares_.'
'Ah, that won't do,' observed Jack, with a shake of the head. 'But stay,'said he, 'there are some books over yonder,' pointing to the top of anIndian cabinet, and squinting in a totally different direction. 'Let's seewhat they are,' added he, rising, and stumping away to where they stood. _IPromessi Sposi_, read he off the back of one. 'What can that mean! Ah, it'sLatin,' said he, opening the volume. _Contes a ma Fille_, read he off theback of another. 'That sounds like racin',' observed he, opening thevolume, 'it's Latin too,' said he, returning it. 'However, never mind,we'll "sugar Puff's milk," as Mr. Bragg would say, without po'try.' Sosaying, Mr. Spraggon stumped back to his easy-chair. 'Well, now,' said he,seating himself comfortably in it, 'let's see where did we go first? "Hebroke at the lower end of the cover, and, crossing the brook, made straightfor Fleecyhaugh Water Meadows, over which," you may say, "there's always aravishing scent."' 'Have you got that?' asked Jack, after what he thoughta sufficient lapse of time for writing it.
'"Ravishing scent,"' repeated Sponge as he wrote the words.
'Very good,' said Jack, smoking and considering. '"From there,"' continuedhe, '"he made a bit of a bend, as if inclining for the plantations atWinstead, but, changing his mind, he faced the rising ground, and crossingover nearly the highest part of Shillington Hill, made direct for thelittle village of Berrington Roothings below."'
'Stop!' exclaimed Sponge, 'I haven't got half that; I've only got to "theplantations at Winstead."' Sponge made play with his pen, and presentlyheld it up in token of being done.
'Well,' pondered Jack, 'there was a check there. Say,' continued he,addressing himself to Sponge, '"Here the hounds came to a check."'
'Here the hounds came to a check,' wrote Sponge. 'Shall we say anythingabout distance?' asked he.
'P'raps we may as well,' replied Jack. 'We shall have to stretch it thougha bit.'
'Let's see,' continued he; 'from the cover to Berrington Roothings over byShillington Hill and Fleecyhaugh Water Meadows will be--say, two miles anda half or three miles at the most--call it four, well, four miles--say fourmiles in twelve minutes, twenty miles an hour,--too quick--four miles infifteen minutes, sixteen miles an hour; no--I think p'raps it'll be saferto lump the distance at the end, and put in a place or two that nobodyknows the name of, for the convenience of those who were not out.'
'But those who _were_ out will blab, won't they?' asked Sponge.
'Only to each other,' replied Jack. 'They'll all stand up for the truth ofit as against strangers. You need never be afraid of over-eggin' thepuddin' for those that were out.'
'Well, then,' observed Sponge, looking at his paper to report progress,'we've got the hounds to a check. "Here the hounds came to a check,"' readhe. 'Ah! now, then,' said Jack, in a tone of disgust, 'we must say summuthandsome of Bragg; and of all conceited animals under the sun, he certainlyis the most conceited. I never saw such a man! How that unfortunate,infatuated master of his keeps him, I can't for the life of me imagine._Master_! faith, Bragg's the _master_,' continued Jack, who now began tofoam at the mouth. 'He laughs at old Puff to his face; yet it's wonderfulthe influence Bragg has over him. I really believe he has talked Puff intobelieving that there's not such another huntsman under the sun, and reallyhe's as great a muff as ever walked. He can just dress the character, andthat's all.' So saying Jack wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his red coatpreparatory to displaying Mr. Bragg upon paper.
'Well, now we are at fault,' said Jack, motioning Sponge to resume; 'we areat fault; now say, "but Mr. Bragg, who had ridden gallantly on hisfavourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat past mark ofmouth--" He _is_ a good horse, at least _was_,' observed Jack, adding, 'Isold Puff him, he was one of old Sugarlip's,' meaning Lord Scamperdale's.
'Sure to be a good 'un, then,' replied Sponge, with a wink, adding, 'Iwonder if he'd like to buy any more?'
'We'll talk about that after,' replied Jack, 'at present let us get on withour run.'
'Well,' said Sponge, 'I've got it: "Mr. Bragg, who had ridden gallantly onhis favourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat pastmark of mouth--"'
'"Was well up with his hounds,"' continued Jack, '"and with a gently,Rantipole! and a single wave of his arm, proceeded to make one of thosescientific casts for which this eminent huntsman is so justly celebrated."Justly _celebrated_!' repeated Jack, spitting on the carpet with a hawk ofdisgust; 'the conceited self-sufficient bantam-cock never made a cast wortha copper, or rode a yard but when he thought somebody was looking at him.'
'I've got it,' said Sponge, who had plied his pen to good purpose.
'Justly celebrated,' repeated Jack, with a snort. 'Well, then, say,"Hitting off the scent like a workman"--big H, you know, for a freshsentence--"they went away again at score, and passing by Moorlinch farmbuildings, and threading the strip of plantation by Bexley Burn, he crossedSilverbury Green, leaving Longford Hutch to the right, and passing straighton by the gibbet at Harpen." Those are all bits of places, observed Jack,'that none but the country folks know; indeed, I shouldn't have known thembut for shootin' over them when old Bloss lived at the Green. Well, now,have you got all that?' asked he.
'"Gibbet at Harpen,"' read Sponge, as he wrote it.
'"Here, then, the gallant pack, breaking from scent to view,"' continuedJack, speaking slowly, '"ran into their fox in the open close uponMountnessing Wood, evidently his point from the first, and into which a fewmore strides would have carried him. It was as fine a run as ever was seen,and the hunting of the hounds was the admiration of all who saw it. Thedistance couldn't have been less than"--than--what shall we say?' askedJack.
'Ten, twelve miles, as the crow flies,' suggested Sponge.
'No,' said Jack,' that would be too much. Say ten'; adding, 'that will befour miles more than it was.'
'Never mind,' said Sponge, as he wrote it; 'folks like good measure withruns as well as ribbons.'
'Now we must butter old Puff,' observed Spraggon.
'What can we say for him?' asked Sponge; 'that he never went off the road?'
'No, by Jove!' said Jack; 'you'll spoil all if you do that: better leave italone altogether than do that. Say, "the justly popular owner of this mostcelebrated pack, though riding good fourteen stone" (he rides far more,'observed Jack; 'at least sixteen; but it'll please him to make out that he_can_ ride fourteen), "led the welters, on his famous chestnut horse,Tappey Lappey."'
'What shall we say about the rest?' asked Sponge; 'Lumpleg, Slapp, Guano,and all those?'
JACK AND MR. SPONGE WRITE AN ARTICLE FOR THE SWILL
INGFORDPAPER]
'Oh, say nothin',' replied Jack; 'we've nothin' to do with nobody but Puff,and we couldn't mention them without bringin' in our Flat Hat mentoo--Blossomnose, Fyle, Fossick, and so on. Besides, it would spoil all tosay that Guano was up--people would say directly it couldn't have been muchof a run if Guano was there. You might finish off,' observed Jack, after apause, 'by saying that "after this truly brilliant affair, Mr. Puffington,like a thorough sportsman, and one who never trashes his houndsunnecessarily--unlike some masters," you may say, "who never know when toleave off" (that will be a hit at Old Scamp,' observed Jack, with afrightful squint), '"returned to Hanby House, where a distinguished partyof sportsmen--" or, say, "a distinguished party of noblemen andgentlemen"--that'll please the ass more--"a large party of noblemen andgentlemen were partaking of his"--his--what shall we call it?'
'Grub!' said Sponge.
'No, no--summut genteel--his--his--his--"splendid hospitality!"' concludedJack, waving his arm triumphantly over his head.
'Hard work, authorship!' exclaimed Sponge, as he finished writing, andthrew down the pen.
'Oh, I don't know,' replied Jack, adding, 'I could go on for an hour.'
'Ah, _you_!--that's all very well,' replied Sponge, 'for you, squattingcomfortably in your arm-chair: but consider me, toiling with my pen,bothered with the writing, and craning at the spelling.'
'Never mind, we've done it,' replied Jack, adding, 'Puff'll be as pleasedas Punch. We've polished him off uncommon. That's just the sort of accountto tickle the beggar. He'll go riding about the country, showing it toeverybody, and wondering who wrote it.'
'And what shall we send it to?--the _Sporting Magazine_, or what?' askedSponge.
'_Sporting Magazine!_--no,' replied Jack; 'wouldn't be out till nextyear--quick's the word in these railway times. Send it to anewspaper--_Bell's Life_, or one of the Swillingford papers. Either of themwould be glad to put it in.'
'I hope they'll be able to read it,' observed Sponge, looking at theblotched and scrawled manuscript.
'Trust them for that,' replied Jack, adding, 'If there's any word thatbothers them, they've nothing to do but look in the dictionary--these folksall have dictionaries, wonderful fellows for spellin'.'
Just then a little buttony page, in green and gold, came in to ask if therewere any letters for the post; and our friends hastily made up theirpacket, directing it to the editor of the Swillingford 'GUIDE TO GLORYAND FREEMAN'S FRIEND'; words that in the hurried style of Mr. Sponge'spenmanship looked very like 'GUIDE TO GROG, AND FREEMAN'SFRIEND.'
Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Page 39