<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XII</h2>
<h3>AN OLD FRIEND</h3>
<p>About a fortnight after the above catastrophe, and as the recollection of
it was nearly effaced by Miss Jumpheavy's abduction of Ensign Downley, our
friend, Mr. Waffles, on visiting his stud at the four o'clock stable-hour,
found a most respectable, middle-aged, rosy-gilled,
better-sort-of-farmer-looking man, straddling his tight drab-trousered
legs, with a twisted ash plant propping his chin, behind the redoubtable
Hercules. He had a bran-new hat on, a velvet-collared blue coat with metal
buttons, that anywhere but in the searching glare and contrast of London
might have passed for a spic-and-span new one; a small, striped,
step-collared toilanette vest; and the aforesaid drab trousers, in the
right-hand pocket of which his disengaged hand kept fishing up and slipping
down an avalanche of silver, which made a pleasant musical accompaniment to
his monetary conversation. On seeing Mr. Waffles, the stranger touched his
hat, and appeared to be about to retire, when Mr. Figg, the stud-groom,
thus addressed his master:</p>
<p>'This be Mr. Buckram, sir, of London, sir; says he knows our brown 'orse,
sir.'</p>
<p>'Ah, indeed,' observed Mr. Waffles, taking a cigar from his mouth; 'knows
no good of him, I should think. What part of London do you live in, Mr.
Buckram?' asked he.</p>
<p>'Why, I doesn't exactly live in London, my lord—that's to say, sir—a
little way out of it, you know—have a little hindependence of my own, you
understand.'</p>
<p>'Hang it, how should I understand anything of the sort—never set eyes on
you before,' replied Mr. Waffles.</p>
<p>The half-crowns now began to descend singly in the pocket, keeping up a
protracted jingle, like the notes of a lazy, undecided musical snuff-box.
By the time the last had dropped, Mr. Buckram had collected himself
sufficiently to resume.</p>
<p><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></SPAN></p>
<p>Taking the ash-plant away from his mouth, with which he had been
barricading his lips, he observed—</p>
<p>'I know'd that oss when Lord Bullfrog had him,' nodding his head at our old
friend as he spoke.</p>
<p>'The deuce you did!' observed Mr. Waffles;' where was that?'</p>
<p>'In Leicestersheer,' replied Mr. Buckram. 'I have a haunt as lives at Mount
Sorrel; she has a little hindependence of her own, and I goes down
'casionally to see her—in fact, I believes I'm her <i>hare</i>. Well, I was
down there just at the beginnin' of the season, the 'ounds met at Kirby
Gate—a mile or two to the south, you know, on the Leicester road—it was
the fust day of the season, in fact—and there was a great crowd, and I was
one; and havin' a heye for an oss, I was struck with this one, you
understand, bein' as I thought, a 'ticklar nice 'un. Lord Bullfrog's man
was a ridin' of him, and he kept him outside the crowd, showin' off his
pints, and passin' him backwards and forwards under people's noses, to
'tract the notish of the nobs—parsecutin, what I call—and I see'd Mr.
Sponge struck—I've known Mr. Sponge many years, and a 'ticklar nice gent
he is—well, Mr. Sponge pulled hup, and said to the grum, "Who's o' that
oss?" "My Lor' Bullfrog's, sir," said the man. "He's a deuced nice 'un,"
observed Mr. Sponge, thinkin', as he was a lord's, he might praise 'im,
seein', in all probability, he weren't for sale. "He is <i>that</i>," said the
grum, patting him on the neck, as though he were special fond on him. "Is
my lord out?" asked Mr. Sponge. "No, sir; he's not come down yet," replied
the man, "nor do I know when he will come. He's been down at Bath for some
time 'sociatin' with the aldermen o' Bristol and has thrown up a vast o'
bad flesh—two stun' sin' last season—and he's afeared this oss won't be
able to carry 'im, and so he writ to me to take 'im out to-day, to show
'im." "He'd carry <i>me</i>, I think," said Mr. Sponge, making hup his mind on
the moment, jist as he makes hup his mind to ride at a fence—not that I
think it's a good plan for a gent to show that he's sweet on an oss, for
they're sure to make him pay for it. Howsomever, that's nouther here nor
there. Well, jist as Mr. Sponge <SPAN name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></SPAN>said this, Sir Richard driv' hup, and
havin' got his oss, away we trotted to the goss jist below, and the next
thing I see'd was Mr. Sponge leadin' the 'ole field on this werry nag.
Well, I heard no more till I got to Melton, for I didn't go to my haunt's
at Mount Sorrel that night, and I saw little of the run, for my oss was
rather puffy, livin' principally on chaff, bran mashes, swedes, and soft
food; and when I got to Melton, I heard 'ow Mr. Sponge had bought this
oss,' Mr. Buckram nodding his head at the horse as he spoke, 'and 'ow that
he'd given the matter o' two 'under'd—or I'm not sure it weren't two
'under'd-and-fifty guineas for 'im, and—'</p>
<p>'Well,' interrupted Mr. Waffles, tired of his verbosity, 'and what did they
say about the horse?'</p>
<p>'Why,' continued Mr. Buckram, thoughtfully, propping his chin up with his
stick, and drawing all the half-crowns up to the top of his pocket again,
'the fust 'spicious thing I heard was Sir Digby Snaffle's grum, Sam, sayin'
to Captain Screwley's bat-man grum, jist afore the George Inn door,—</p>
<p>'"Well, Jack, Tommy's sold the brown oss!"</p>
<p>'"N—<span class="smcap">o</span>—<span class="smcap">o</span>—<span class="smcap">r</span>!" exclaimed Jack, starin' 'is eyes
out, as if it were unpossible.</p>
<p>'"He '<i>as</i> though," said Sam.</p>
<p>'"Well, then, I 'ope the gemman's fond o' walkin'," exclaimed Jack, bustin'
out a laughin' and runnin' on.</p>
<p>'This rayther set me a thinkin',' continued Mr. Buckram, dropping a second
half-crown, which jinked against the nest-egg one left at the bottom, 'and
fearin' that Mr. Sponge had fallen 'mong the Philistines—which I was werry
concerned about, for he's a real nice gent, but thoughtless, as many young
gents are who 'ave plenty of tin—I made it my business to inquire 'bout
this oss; and if he <i>is</i> the oss that I saw in Leicestersheer, and I 'ave
little doubt about it (dropping two consecutive half-crowns as he spoke),
though I've not seen him out, I—'</p>
<p>'Ah! well, I bought him of Mr. Sponge, who said he got him from Lord
Bullfrog,' interrupted Mr. Waffles.</p>
<p>'Ah! then he <i>is</i> the oss, in course,' said Mr. Buckram, with a sort of
mournful chuck of the chin; 'he <i>is</i> the <SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></SPAN>oss,' repeated he; 'well, then,
he's a dangerous hanimal,' added he, letting slip three half-crowns.</p>
<p>'What does he do?' asked Mr. Waffles.</p>
<p>'Do!' repeated Mr. Buckram, '<span class="smcap">do</span>! he'll do for anybody.'</p>
<p>'Indeed,' responded Mr. Waffles; adding, 'how could Mr. Sponge sell me such
a brute?'</p>
<p>'I doesn't mean to say, mind ye,' observed Mr. Buckram, drawing back three
half-crowns, as though he had gone that much too far,—'I doesn't mean to
say, mind, that he's wot you call a misteched, runaway,
rear-backwards-over-hanimal—but I mean to say he's a difficultish oss to
ride—himpetuous—and one that, if he got the hupper 'and, would be werry
likely to try and keep the hupper 'and—you understand me?' said he, eyeing
Mr. Waffles intently, and dropping four half-crowns as he spoke.</p>
<p>'I'm tellin' you nothin' but the truth,' observed Mr. Buckram, after a
pause, adding, 'in course it's nothin' to me, only bein' down here on a
visit to a friend, and 'earin' that the oss were 'ere, I made bold to look
in to see whether it was 'im or no. No offence, I 'opes,' added he, letting
go the rest of the silver, and taking the prop from under his chin, with an
obeisance as if he was about to be off.</p>
<p>'Oh, no offence at all,' rejoined Mr. Waffles, 'no offence—rather the
contrary. Indeed, I'm much obliged to you for telling me what you have
done. Just stop half a minute,' added he, thinking he might as well try and
get something more out of him. While Mr. Waffles was considering his next
question, Mr. Buckram saved him the trouble of thinking by 'leading the
gallop' himself.</p>
<p>'I believe 'im to be a <i>good</i> oss, and I believe 'im to be a <i>bad</i> oss,'
observed Mr. Buckram, sententiously. 'I believe that oss, with a bold rider
on his back, and well away with the 'ounds, would beat most osses goin',
but it's the start that's the difficulty with him; for if, on the other
'and, he don't incline to go, all the spurrin', and quiltin', and
leatherin' in the world won't make 'im. It'll be a mercy o' Providence if
he don't cut out work for the crowner some day.'</p>
<p><SPAN name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></SPAN></p>
<p>'Hang the brute!' exclaimed Mr. Waffles, in disgust; 'I've a good mind to
have his throat cut.'</p>
<p>'Nay,' replied Mr. Buckram, brightening up, and stirring the silver round
and round in his pocket like a whirlpool, 'nay,' replied he, 'he's fit for
summat better nor that.'</p>
<p>'Not much, I think,' replied Mr. Waffles, pouting with disgust. He now
stood silent for a few seconds.</p>
<p>'Well, but what did they mean by hoping Mr. Sponge was fond of walking?' at
length asked he.</p>
<p>'Oh, vy,' replied Mr. Buckram, gathering all the money up again, 'I believe
it was this 'ere,' beginning to drop them to half-minute time, and talking
very slowly; 'the oss, I believe, got the better of Lord Bullfrog one day,
somewhere a little on this side of Thrussinton—that, you know, is where
Sir 'Arry built his kennels—between Mount Sorrel and Melton in fact—and
havin' got his Lordship off, who, I should tell you, is an uncommon fat
'un, he wouldn't let him on again, and he 'ad to lead him the matter of I
don't know 'ow many miles'; Mr. Buckram letting go the whole balance of
silver in a rush, as if to denote that it was no joke.</p>
<p>'The brute!' observed Mr. Waffles, in disgust, adding, 'Well, as you seem
to have a pretty good opinion of him, suppose you buy him; I'll let you
have him cheap.'</p>
<p>''Ord bless you—my lord—that's to say, sir!' exclaimed Buckram, shrugging
up his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows as high as they would go, 'he'd
be of no use to me, none votsomever—shouldn't know what to do with
him—never do for 'arness—besides, I 'ave a werry good machiner as it
is—at least, he sarves my turn, and that's everything, you know. No, sir,
no,' continued he, slowly and thoughtfully, dropping the silver to
half-minute time; 'no, sir, no; if I might make free with a gen'leman o'
your helegance,' continued he, after a pause,' I'd say, sell 'im to a
post-master or a buss-master, or some sich cattle as those, but I doesn't
think I'd put 'im into the 'ands of no gen'leman, that's to say if I were
<i>you</i>, at least,' added he.</p>
<p>'Well, then, will you speculate on him yourself for <SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></SPAN>the buss-masters?'
asked Mr. Waffles, tired alike of the colloquy and the quadruped.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image094.jpg" width-obs="261" height-obs="300" alt="PORTRAIT OF LORD BULLFROG, FORMERLY OWNER OF 'HERCULES'" title="" /> <span class="caption">PORTRAIT OF LORD BULLFROG, FORMERLY OWNER OF 'HERCULES'</span></div>
<p>'Oh, vy, as to that,' replied Mr. Buckram, with an air of the most perfect
indifference, 'vy, as to that—not bein' nouther a post-master nor a
buss-master—but 'aving, as I said before, a little hindependence o' my
own, vy, I couldn't in course give such a bountiful price as if I could
turn 'im to account at once; but if it would be any 'commodation to you,'
added he, working the silver up into full cry, 'I wouldn't mind givin' you
the with (worth) of 'im—say, deductin' expenses hup to town, and standin'
at livery afore I finds a customer—expenses hup to town,' continued Mr.
Buckram, muttering to himself<SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></SPAN> in apparent calculation, 'standin' at
livery—three-and-sixpence a night, grum, and so on—I wouldn't mind,'
continued he briskly, 'givin' of you twenty pund for 'im—if you'd throw me
back a sov.,' continued he, seeing Mr. Waffles' brow didn't contract into
the frown he expected at having such a sum offered for his
three-hundred-guinea horse.</p>
<p>In the course of an hour, that wonderful invention of modern times,—the
Electric Telegraph—conveyed the satisfactory words 'All right' to our
friend Mr. Sponge, just as he was sitting down to dinner in a certain
sumptuously sanded coffee-room in Conduit Street, who forthwith sealed and
posted the following ready-written letter:</p>
<p>'BANTAM HOTEL, BOND STREET.</p>
<p>'SIR,</p>
<p>'I have been greatly surprised and hurt to hear that you have thought fit
to impeach my integrity, and insinuate that I had taken you in with the
brown horse. Such insinuations touch one in a tender point—one's
self-respect. The bargain, I may remind you, was of your own seeking, and I
told you at the time I knew nothing of the horse, having only ridden him
once, and I also told you where I got him. To show how unjust and unworthy
your insinuations have been, I have now to inform you that, having
ascertained that Lord Bullfrog knew he was vicious, I insisted on his
lordship taking him back, and have only to add that, on my receiving him
from you, I will return you your bill.'</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'I am, Sir, your obedient servant,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'H. SPONGE.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'To <span class="smcap">w. waffles</span>, Esq.,<br/></span>
<span class="i26">'Imperial Hotel, Laverick Wells.'<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>Mr. Waffles was a good deal vexed and puzzled when he got this letter. He
had parted with the horse, who was gone no one knew where, and Mr. Waffles
felt that he had used a certain freedom of speech in speaking of the
transaction. Mr. Sponge having left Laverick Wells, had, perhaps, led him a
little astray with his tongue—slandering an absent man being generally
<SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></SPAN>thought a pretty safe game; it now seemed Mr. Waffles was all wrong, and
might have had his money back if he had not been in such a hurry to part
with the horse. Like a good many people, he thought he had best eat up his
words, which he did in the following manner:</p>
<p>'IMPERIAL HOTEL, LAVERICK WELLS.</p>
<p>'DEAR MR. SPONGE,</p>
<p>'You are quite mistaken in supposing that I ever insinuated anything
against <i>you</i> with regard to the horse. I said <i>he</i> was a beast, and it
seems Lord Bullfrog admits it. However, never mind anything more about him,
though I am equally obliged to you for the trouble you have taken. The fact
is, I have parted with him.</p>
<p>'We are having capital sport; never go out but we kill, sometimes a brace,
sometimes a leash of foxes. Hoping you are recovered from the effects of
your ride through the window, and will soon rejoin us, believe me, dear Mr.
Sponge,'</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'Yours very sincerely,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'W. WAFFLES.'<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>To which Mr. Sponge shortly after rejoined as follows:</p>
<p>'BANTAM HOTEL, BOND STREET.</p>
<p>'DEAR WAFFLES,</p>
<p>'Yours to hand—I am glad to receive a disclaimer of any unworthy
imputations respecting the brown horse. Such insinuations are only for
horse-dealers, not for men of high gentlemanly feeling.</p>
<p>'I am sorry to say we have not got out of the horse as I hoped. Lord
Bullfrog, who is a most cantankerous fellow, insists upon having him back,
according to the terms of my letter; I must therefore trouble you to hunt
him up, and let us accommodate his lordship with him again. If you will say
where he is, I may very likely know some one who can assist us in getting
him. You will excuse this trouble, I hope, considering that it was to serve
you that I moved in the matter, and insisted on <SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></SPAN>returning him to his
lordship, at a loss of £50 to myself, having only given £250 for him.'</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'I remain, dear Waffles,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'Yours sincerely,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'H. SPONGE.'<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'To <span class="smcap">w. waffles</span>, Esq.,<br/></span>
<span class="i26">'Imperial Hotel, Laverick Wells.'<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>'LAVERICK WELLS.</p>
<p>'DEAR SPONGE,<br/></p>
<p>'I'm afraid Bullfrog will have to make himself happy without his horse, for
I hav'n't the slightest idea where he is. I sold him to a cockneyfied,
countryfied sort of a man, who said he had a small "hindependence of his
own"—somewhere, I believe, about London. He didn't give much for him, as
you may suppose, when I tell you he paid for him chiefly in silver. If I
were you, I wouldn't trouble myself about him.'</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'Yours very truly,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'W. WAFFLES.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'To H. SPONGE, Esq.'<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>Our hero addressed Mr. Waffles again, in the course of a few days, as
follows:</p>
<p><span class="smcap">'dear waffles</span>,</p>
<p>'I am sorry to say Bullfrog won't be put off without the horse. He says I
insisted on his taking him back, and now he insists on having him. I have
had his lawyer, Mr. Chousam, of the great firm of Chousam, Doem, and Co.,
of Throgmorton Street, at me, who says his lordship will play old
gooseberry with us if we don't return him by Saturday. Pray put on all
steam, and look him up.'</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'Yours in haste,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'H. SPONGE.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'To W. WAFFLES, Esq.'<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>Mr. Waffles did put on all steam, and so successfully<SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></SPAN> that he ran the
horse to ground at our friend Mr. Buckram's. Though the horse was in the
box adjoining the house, Mr. Buckram declared he had sold him to go to
'Hireland'; to what county he really couldn't say, nor to what hunt; all he
knew was, the gentleman said he was a 'captin,' and lived in a castle.</p>
<p>Mr. Waffles communicated the intelligence to Sponge, requesting him to do
the best he could for him, who reported what his 'best' was in the
following letter:</p>
<p><span class="smcap">'dear waffles,</span></p>
<p>'My lawyer has seen Chousam, and deuced stiff he says he was. It seems
Bullfrog is indignant at being accused of a "do"; and having got me in the
wrong box, by not being able to return the horse as claimed, he meant to
work me. At first Chousam would hear of nothing but "l—a—w." Bullfrog's
wounded honour could only be salved that way. Gradually, however, we
diverged from l—a—w to £—s.—d.; and the upshot of it is, that he will
advise his lordship to take £250 and be done with it. It's a bore; but I
did it for the best, and shall be glad now to know your wishes on the
subject. Meanwhile, I remain,'</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'Yours very truly,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'H. SPONGE.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i23">'To <span class="smcap">w. waffles</span>, Esq.'<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>Formerly a remittance by post used to speak for itself. The tender-fingered
clerks could detect an enclosure, however skilfully folded. Few people
grudged double postage in those days. Now one letter is so much like
another, that nothing short of opening them makes one any wiser. Mr. Sponge
received Mr. Waffles' answer from the hands of the waiter with the sort of
feeling that it was only the continuation of their correspondence. Judge,
then, of his delight, when a nice, clean, crisp promissory note, on a
five-shilling stamp, fell quivering to the floor. A few lines, expressive
of Mr. Waffles' gratitude for the trouble our hero had taken, and hopes
that it would not be inconvenient to take a note at two <SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></SPAN>months,
accompanied it. At first Mr. Sponge was overjoyed. It would set him up for
the season. He thought how he'd spend it. He had half a mind to go to
Melton. There were no heiresses there, or else he would. Leamington would
do, only it was rather expensive. Then he thought he might as well have
done Waffles a little more.</p>
<p>'Confound it!' exclaimed Sponge, 'I don't do myself justice! I'm too much
of a gentleman! I should have had five 'under'd—such an ass as Waffles
deserves to be done!'</p>
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