Passing onward, Mr Sponge came to a red-baized, brass-nailed door, which, opening freely on a patent spring, revealed the fine proportions of a light picture-gallery with which the bright mahogany doors of the entertaining rooms communicated. Opening the first door he came to, our friend found himself in the elegant drawing-room, on whose round bird’s-eye-maple table, in the centre, were huddled all the unequalled-lengthed candles of the previous night’s illumination. It was a handsome apartment, fitted up in the most costly style; with rose-colour brocaded satin damask, the curtains trimmed with silk tassel fringe, and ornamented with massive bullion tassels on cornices, Cupids supporting wreaths under an arch, with open carved-work and enrichments in burnished gold. The room, save the muster of the candles, was just as it had been left; and the richly gilt sofa still retained the indentations of the sitters, with the luxurious down pillows, left as they had been supporting their backs.
The room reeked of tobacco, and the ends and ashes of cigars dotted the tables and white marble chimney- piece, and the gilt slabs and the finely-flowered Tournay carpet, just as the fires of gypsies dot and disfigure the fair face of a country. Costly china and knick-knacks of all sorts were scattered about in profusion. Altogether, it was a beautiful room.
‘No want of money here,’ said Mr Sponge to himself, as he eyed it, and thought what havoc Gustavus James would make among the ornaments if he had a chance.
He then looked about for pen, ink, and paper. These were distributed so wide apart as to show the little request they were in. Having at length succeeded in getting what he wanted gathered together, Mr Sponge sat down on the luxurious sofa, considering how he should address his host, as he hoped. Mr Sponge was not a shy man, but, considering the circumstances under which he made Sir Harry Scattercash’s acquaintance, together with his design upon his hospitality -- above all, considering the crew by whom Sir Harry was surrounded -- it required some little tact to pave the way without raising the present inmates of the house against him. There are no people so anxious to protect others from robbery as those who are robbing them themselves. Mr Sponge thought, and thought, and thought. At last he resolved to write on the subject of the hounds. After sundry attempts on pink, blue, and green-tinted paper, he at last succeeded in hitting off the following, on yellow: ----
Nonsuch House
Dear Sir Harry -- I rode over this morning, hearing you were to hunt, and am sorry to find you indisposed. I wish you would drop me a line to Mr Crowdey’s, Puddingpote Bower, saying when next you go out, as I should much like to have another look at your splendid pack, before I leave this country, which I fear will have to be soon.
Yours in haste,
H. Sponge
P. S. -- I hope you all got safe home the other night from Mr Peastraw’s.
Having put this into a richly-gilt and embossed envelope, our friend directed it conspicuously to Sir Harry Scattercash, Bart., and stuck it in the centre of the mantelpiece. He then retraced his steps through the back regions, informing the sleeping beauty he had before disturbed, and who was now busy scouring a pan, that he had left a letter in the drawing-room for Sir Harry, and if she would see that he got it, he (Mr Sponge) would remember her the next time he came, which he inwardly hoped would be soon. He then made for the stable, and got his horse, to go home, sauntering more leisurely along than one would expect of a man who had not got his breakfast, especially one riding a hack hunter.
The truth was, Mr Sponge did not much like the aspect of affairs. Sir Harry’s was evidently a desperately ‘fast’ house; added to which, the guests by whom he was surrounded were clearly of the wide-awake order, who could not spare any pickings for a stranger. Indeed, Mr Sponge felt that they rather cold- shouldered him at Farmer Peastraw’s, and were in a greater hurry to be off when the drag came, than