If ever a man may be excused for indulging in luncheon, it certainly is on a pouring wet day (when he eats for occupation), or when he is making love; both which excuses Mr Sponge had to offer, so he just sat down and ate as heartily as the best of the party, not excepting his host himself, who was an excellent hand at luncheon.

Jawleyford tried to get him back to the gallery after luncheon, but a look from his wife intimated that Sponge was wanted elsewhere, so he quietly saw him carried off to the music-room; and presently the notes of the ‘grand piano,’ and full clear voices of his daughters, echoing along the passage, intimated that they were trying what effect music would have upon him.

When Mrs Jawleyford looked in about an hour after, she found Mr Sponge sitting over the fire with his Mogg in his hand, and the young ladies with their laps full of company-work, keeping up a sort of cross- fire of conversation in the shape of question and answer. Mrs Jawleyford’s company making matters worse, they soon became tediously agreeable.

In course of time, Jawleyford entered the room, with --

‘My dear Mr Sponge, your groom has come up to know about your horse tomorrow. I told him it was utterly impossible to think of hunting, but he says he must have his orders from you. I should say,’ added Jawleyford, ‘it is quite out of the question -- madness to think of it; much better in the house, such weather.’

‘I don’t know that,’ replied Sponge, ‘the rain’s come down, and though the country will ride heavy, I don’t see why we shouldn’t have sport after it.’

‘But the glass is falling, and the wind’s gone round the wrong way; the moon changed this morning -- everything, in short, indicates continued wet,’ replied Jawleyford. ‘The rivers are all swollen, and the low grounds under water; besides, my dear fellow, consider the distance -- consider the distance; sixteen miles, if it’s a yard.’

‘What, Duntleton Tower!’ exclaimed Sponge, recollecting that Jawleyford had said it was only ten the night before.

‘Sixteen miles, and bad road,’ replied Jawleyford.

‘The deuce it is!’ muttered Sponge; adding, ‘Well, I’ll go and see my groom, at all events.’ So saying, he rang the bell as if the house was his own, and desired Spigot to show him the way to his servant.

Leather, of course, was in the servants’-hall, refreshing himself with cold meat and ale, after his ride up from Lucksford.

Finding that he had ridden the hack up, he desired Leather to leave him there. ‘Tell the groom I must have him put up,’ said Sponge; ‘and you ride the chesnut on in the morning. How far is it to Duntleton Tower?’ asked he.

‘Twelve or thirteen miles, they say, from here,’ replied Leather; ‘nine or ten from Lucksford.’

‘Well, that’ll do,’ said Sponge; ‘you tell the groom here to have the hack saddled for me at nine o’clock, and you ride Multum in Parvo quietly on, either to the meet, or till I overtake you.’

‘But how am I to get back to Lucksford?’ asked Leather, cocking up a foot to show how thinly he was shod.

‘Oh, just as you can,’ replied Sponge; ‘get the groom here to set you down with his master’s hacks. I dare say they haven’t been out today, and it’ll do them good.’

So saying, Mr Sponge left his valuable servant to do the best he could for himself.