'Oh! then you are Mr. Puffington,' observed Sponge, who had a sort of general acquaintance with all the hounds and masters—indeed, with all the meets of all the hounds in the kingdom—which he read in the weekly lists in Bell's Life, just as he read Mogg's Cab Fares. 'Then you are Mr. Puffington?' observed Sponge.
'The same,' replied the stranger.
'I'll have a look at you,' observed Sponge, adding, 'do you take in horses?'
'Yours, of course,' replied Mr. Puffington, bowing; adding something about great public characters, which Sponge didn't understand.
'I'll be down upon you, as the extinguisher said to the rushlight,' observed Mr. Sponge.
'Do,' said Mr. Puffington; 'come before the frost. Where are you staying now?'
'I'm at Jawleyford's,' replied our friend.
'Indeed!—Jawleyford's, are you?' repeated Mr. Puffington. 'Good fellow, Jawleyford—gentleman, Jawleyford. How long do you stay?'
'Why, I haven't made up my mind,' replied Sponge. 'Have no thoughts of budging at present.'
'Ah, well—good quarters,' said Mr. Puffington, who now smelt a rat; 'good quarters—nice girls—fine fortune—fine place, Jawleyford Court. Well, book me for the next visit,' added he. 'I will,' said Sponge, 'and no mistake. What do they call your shop?'