‘No,’ replied Jack.

‘What time is it?’ asked Sponge.

‘Twenty minutes to two,’ replied Spigot, holding up a sort of pocket warming-pan, which he called a watch.

‘The deuce!’ exclaimed Sponge.

‘Who’d ha’ thought it?’ muttered Jack.

‘Well, then, I suppose we may as well go to bed,’ observed Sponge.

‘S’pose so,’ replied Jack; ‘nothin’ more to get.’

‘Do you know your room?’ asked Sponge.

‘To be sure I do,’ replied Jack; ‘don’t think I’m d—­d—­dr—­drunk, do you?’

‘Not likely,’ rejoined Sponge.

Jack then commenced a very crab-like ascent of the stairs, which fortunately were easy, or he would never have got up.  Mr. Sponge, who still occupied the state apartments, took leave of Jack at his own door, and Jack went bumping and blundering on in search of the branch passage leading to his piggery.  He found the green baize door that usually distinguishes the entrance to these secondary suites, and was presently lurching along its contracted passage.  As luck would have it, however, he got into his host’s dressing-room, where that worthy slept; and when Jawleyford jumped up in the morning, as was his wont, to see what sort of a day it was, he trod on Jack’s face, who had fallen down in his clothes alongside of the bed, and Jawleyford broke Jack’s spectacles across the bridge of his nose.

‘Rot it!’ roared Jack, jumping up, ‘don’t ride over a fellow that way!’ When, shaking himself to try whether any limbs were broken, he found he was in his dress clothes instead of in the roomy garments of the Flat Hat Hunt.  ‘Who are you? where am I? what the deuce do you mean by breaking my specs?’ he exclaimed, squinting frightfully at his host.

‘My dear sir,’ exclaimed Mr. Jawleyford, from the top of his night-shirt, ‘I’m very sorry, but—­’

‘Hang your buts! you shouldn’t ride so near a man!’ exclaimed Jack, gathering up the fragments of his spectacles; when, recollecting himself, he finished by saying, ‘Perhaps I’d better go to my own room.’

‘Perhaps you had,’ replied Mr. Jawleyford, advancing towards the door to show him the way.

‘Let me have a candle,’ said Jack, preparing to follow.

‘Candle, my dear fellow! why, it’s broad daylight,’ replied his host.

‘Is it?’ said Jack, apparently unconscious of the fact.  ‘What’s the hour?’

‘Five minutes to eight,’ replied Jawleyford, looking at a timepiece.

When Jack got into his own den he threw himself into an old invalid chair, and sat rubbing the fractured spectacles together as if he thought they would unite by friction, though in reality he was endeavouring to run the overnight’s proceedings through his mind.  The more he thought of Amelia’s winning ways, the more satisfied he was that he had made an impression, and then the more vexed he was at having his spectacles broken:  for though he considered