‘Well, now,’ said Mr Sponge, turning again to Leather; ‘just go upstairs and help me to pack up my things; and,’ addressing himself to our visitor he said, ‘perhaps you’ll amuse yourself with the paper -- the Post -- or I’ll lend you my Mogg,’ continued he, offering the little gilt-lettered, purple-backed volume as he spoke.

‘Thank’ee,’ replied Mr Jogglebury, who was still tapping away at the card, which he had now worked very soft.

Mr Sponge then left him with the volume in his hand, and proceeded upstairs to his bedroom.

In less than twenty minutes, the vehicle was got under way, Mr Jogglebury Crowdey and Mr Sponge occupying the roomy seats in front, and Bartholomew Badger, the before-mentioned tiger, and Mr Sponge’s portmanteau and carpet-bag, being in the very diminutive turnover seat behind. The carriage was followed by the straining eyes of sundry Johns and Janes, who unanimously agreed that Mr Sponge was the meanest, shabbiest gent. they had ever had in their house. Mr Leather was, therefore, roasted in the servants’ hall, where the sins of the masters are oft visited upon the servants.

But to our travellers.

Little conversation passed between our friends for the first few miles, for, in addition to the road being rough, the driving-seat was so high, and the other as low, that Mr Jogglebury Crowdey’s parables broke against Mr Sponge’s hat-crown, instead of dropping into his ear; besides which, the unwilling host’s mind was a good deal occupied with wishing that there had been three haddocks instead of two, and speculating whether Mr Crowdey would be more pleased at the success of his mission, or put out of her way by Mr Sponge’s unexpected coming. Above all, he had marked some very promising-looking sticks -- two blackthorns and a holly -- to cut on his way home, and he was intent on not missing them. So sudden was the jerk that announced his coming on the first one, as nearly to throw the old family horse on his knees, and almost to break Mr Sponge’s nose against the brass edge of the cocked-up splash-board. Ere Mr Sponge recovered his equilibrium, the whip was in the case, the reins dangling about the old screw’s heels, and Mr Crowdey scrambling up a steep bank to where a very thick boundary-hedge shut out the view of the adjacent country. Presently, chop, chop, chop, was heard, from Mr Crowdey’s pocket axe, with a tug -- wheeze -- puff from himself; next a crash of separation; and then the purple-faced Mr Crowdey came bearing down the bank dragging a great blackthorn bush after him.

‘What have you got there?’ enquired Mr Sponge, with surprise.

‘Got! (wheeze -- puff -- wheeze),’ replied Mr Crowdey, pulling up short, and mopping his perspiring brow with a great claret-coloured bandana. ‘Got! I’ve (puff -- wheeze) got what (wheeze) think will (puff) into a most elaborate and (wheeze) valuable walking-stick. This I (puff) think,’ continued he, eyeing the great ball with which he had got it up, ‘will (wheeze) come in most valuably (puff) for my great (puff -- wheeze -- gasp) national undertaking -- the (puff) Kings and (wheeze) Queens of Great Britain (gasp).’

‘What are they?’ asked Mr Sponge, astonished at his vehemence.

‘Oh! (puff -- wheeze -- gasp) haven’t you heard?’ exclaimed Mr Jogglebury, taking off his great woolly hat, and giving his lank, dark hair, streaked with grey, a sweep round his low forehead with the bandana. ‘Oh! (puff gasp) haven’t you heard?’ repeated he, getting a little more breath. ‘I’m (wheeze) undertaking a series of (gasp) sticks, representing -- (gasp) -- immortalising, I may say (puff), all the (wheeze) crowned heads of England (puff).’

‘Indeed!’ replied Mr Sponge.

‘They’ll be a most valuable collection (wheeze -- puff),’ continued Mr Jogglebury, still eyeing the knob. ‘This,’ added he, ‘shall be William the Fourth.’ He then commenced lopping and docking the sides, making Bartholomew Badger bury them in a sand-pit hard by, observing, in a confidential wheeze to Mr Sponge, ‘that he had once been county-courted for a similar trespass before.’ The top and lop being at length