'About the horse, you know—about Mr. Sponge's horse, you know—that you got me to challenge for you, you know,' stammered Pacey.
'Oh, dash it, the chap's drunk,' growled Jack aloud to himself, adding to Pacey, 'you shouldn't get up so soon, man—sleep the drink off.'
Pacey stood nonplussed.
'Don't you remember, Mr. Spraggon,' at last asked he, after watching the tassel of Jack's cap peeping above the bedclothes, 'what took place last night, you know? You asked me to get you Mr. Sponge's chestnut, and you know I did, you know.'
'Hout, lad, disperse!—get out of this!' exclaimed Jack, starting his great red face above the bedclothes and squinting frightfully at Pacey.
'Well, my dear friend, but you did,' observed Pacey soothingly.
'Nonsense!' roared Jack, again ducking under.
Pacey stood agape.
'Come!' exclaimed Jack, again starting up, 'cut your stick!—be off!—make yourself scarce!—give your rags a gallop, in short!—don't be after disturbin' a gen'leman of fortin's rest in this way.'
'But, my dear Mr. Spraggon,' resumed Pacey, in the same gentle tone, 'you surely forget what you asked me to do.'