'So'll I,' said Sponge, 'if you'll give me a cigar.' 'Much yours as mine,' replied Jack, handing him his lordship's richly embroidered case with coronets and ciphers on either side, the gift of one of the many would-be Lady Scamperdales.
'Want a light!' hiccuped Jack, who had now got a glow-worm end to his.
'Thanks,' said Sponge, availing himself of the friendly overture.
Our friends now whiffed and puffed away together—whiffing and puffing where whiffing and puffing had never been known before. The brandy began to disappear pretty quickly; it was better than the wine.
'That's a n—n—nice—ish horse of yours,' stammered Jack, as he mixed himself a second tumbler.
'Which?' asked Sponge.
'The bur—bur—brown,' spluttered Jack.
'He is that,' replied Sponge; 'best horse in this country by far.'
'The che—che—chest—nut's not a ba—ba—bad un. I dare say,' observed Jack.
'No, he's not,' replied Sponge; 'a deuced good un.'