‘Ah, I see,’ replied Mr. Sponge; ’you mean to say you wouldn’t know how to strike the average so as to say what I ought to pay.’

‘Just so,’ rejoined Mr. Jogglebury, jumping at the idea.

‘Ah, well,’ said Mr. Sponge, in a tone of indifference; ’it’s no great odds—­it’s no great odds—­more the name of the thing than anything else; one likes to be independent, you know—­one likes to be independent; but as I shan’t be with you long, I’ll just put up with it for once—­I’ll just put up with it for once—­and let you find me—­and let you find me.’  So saying, he walked away, leaving Jogglebury petrified at his impudence.

‘That husband of yours is a monstrous good fellow,’ observed Mr. Sponge to Mrs. Jogglebury, who he now met coming out with her tail:  ’he will insist on my having my horses over here—­most liberal, handsome thing of him, I’m sure; and that reminds me, can you manage to put up my servant?’

‘I dare say we can,’ replied Mrs. Jogglebury thoughtfully.  ’He’s not a very fine gentleman, is he?’ asked she, knowing that servants were often more difficult to please than their masters.  ‘Oh, not at all,’ replied Sponge; ‘not at all—­wouldn’t suit me if he was—­wouldn’t suit me if he was.’

Just then up waddled Jogglebury, puffing and wheezing like a stranded grampus; the idea having just struck him that he might get off on the plea of not having room for the servant.

’It’s very unfortunate (wheeze)—­that’s to say, it never occurred to me (puff), but I quite forgot (gasp) that we haven’t (wheeze) room for your (puff) servant.’

‘Ah, you are a good fellow,’ replied Mr. Sponge—­’a devilish good fellow.  I was just telling Mrs. Jogglebury—­wasn’t I, Mrs. Jogglebury?—­what an excellent fellow you are, and how kind you’d been about the horses and corn, and all that sort of thing, when it occurred to me that it mightn’t be convenient, p’raps to put up a servant; but your wife assures me that it will; so that settles the matter, you know—­that settles the matter and I’ll now send for the horses forthwith.’

Jog was utterly disconcerted, and didn’t know which way to turn for an excuse.  Mrs. Jogglebury, though she would rather have been without the establishment, did not like to peril Gustavus James’s prospects by appearing displeased; so she smilingly said she would see and do what they could.

Mr. Sponge then procured a messenger to take a note to Hanby House, for Mr. Leather, and having written it, amused himself for a time with his cigars and his Mogg in his bedroom, and then turned out to see the stable got ready, and pick up any information about the hounds, or anything else, from anybody he could lay hold of.  As luck would have it, he fell in with a groom travelling a horse to hunt with Sir Harry Scattercash’s hounds, which, he said, met at Snobston Green, some eight or nine miles off, the next day, and whither Mr. Sponge decided on going.