‘What’s the matter? -- what’s the matter? -- what’s the matter?’ exclaimed Mr Sponge, rushing through the connecting door. ‘What’s the matter?’ repeated he, placing himself between the bed in which Jack still sat upright, squinting his eyes inside out, and where Mr Pacey stood.

‘Oh, Mr Sponge!’ exclaimed Jack, clasping his raised hands in thankfulness, ‘I’m so glad you’re here! -- I’m so thankful you’re come! I’ve been insulted! -- oh, goodness, how I’ve been insulted!’ added he, throwing himself back in the bed, as if thoroughly overcome with his feelings.

‘Well, but what’s the matter? -- what is it all about?’ asked Sponge, coolly, having a pretty good guess what it was.

‘Never was so insulted in my life!’ ejaculated Jack, from under the bedclothes.

‘Well, but what is it?’ repeated Sponge, appealing to Pacey, who stood as pale as ashes.

‘Oh! nothing,’ replied he; ‘quite a mistake; Mr Spraggon misunderstood me altogether.’

‘Mistake! There’s no mistake in the matter!’ exclaimed Jack, appearing again on the surface like an otter; ‘you gave me the lie as plain as a pikestaff.’

‘Indeed!’ observed Mr Sponge, drawing in his breath and raising his eyebrows right up into the roof of his head. ‘Indeed!’ repeated he.

‘No; nothing of the sort, I assure you,’ asserted Mr Pacey.

‘Must have satisfaction!’ exclaimed Jack, again diving under the bedclothes.

‘Well, but let us hear how matters stand,’ said Mr Sponge, coolly, as Jack’s grizzly head appeared.

‘You’ll be my second,’ growled Jack, from under the bedclothes.

‘Oh! second be hanged,’ retorted Sponge. ‘You’ve nothing to fight about; Mr Pacey says he didn’t mean anything, that you misunderstood him, and what more can a man want?’

‘Just so,’ replied Mr Pacey -- ‘just so. I assure you I never intended the slightest imputation on Mr Spraggon.’

‘I’m sure not,’ replied Mr Sponge.

‘H-u-m-p-h,’ grunted Jack from under the bedclothes, like a pig in the straw. Not showing any disposition to appear on the surface again, Mr Sponge, after standing a second or two, gave a jerk of his head to Mr Pacey, and forthwith conducted him into his own room, shutting the door between Mr Spraggon and him.

Mr Sponge then enquired into the matter, kindly sympathising with Mr Pacey, who he was certain never meant anything disrespectful to Mr Spraggon, who, Mr Sponge thought, seemed rather quick at taking offence; though, doubtless, as Mr Sponge observed, ‘a man was perfectly right in being tenacious of his integrity,’ a position that he illustrated by a familiar passage from Shakespeare, about stealing a purse and stealing trash, &c.

Emboldened by his kindness, Mr Pacey then got Mr Sponge on to talk about the horse of which he had become the unwilling possessor -- the renowned chestnut, Multum in Parvo.

Mr Sponge spoke like a very prudent, conscientious man; said that really it was difficult to give an opinion about a horse; that what suited one man might not suit another -- that he considered Multum in Parvo a very good horse; indeed, that he wouldn’t have parted with him if he hadn’t more than he wanted, and the cream of the season had passed without his meeting with any of those casualties that rendered the