'Oh, he's still here!' replied Mr. Puffington, shuddering with disgust at the recollection of the newspaper run. 'Is he going to-day?' asked he.
'No, sir—I dare say not, sir,' replied Mr. Plummey. 'His man—his groom—his—whatever he calls him, expects they'll be staying some time.'
'The deuce!' exclaimed Mr. Puffington, whose hospitality, like Jawleyford's, was greater in imagination than in reality.
'Shall I take these things away?' asked Plummey, after a pause.
'Couldn't you manage to get him to go?' asked Mr. Puffington, still harping on his remaining guest.
'Don't know, sir. I could try, sir—believe he's bad to move, sir,' replied Plummey, with a grin.
'Is he really?' replied Mr. Puffington, alarmed lest Sponge should fasten himself upon him for good.
'They say so,' replied Mr. Plummey, 'but I don't speak from any personal knowledge, for I know nothing of the man.'
'Well,' said Mr. Puffington, amused at his servant's exclusiveness, 'I wish you would try to get rid of him, bow him out civilly, you know—say I'm unwell—very unwell—deuced unwell—ordered to keep quiet—say it as if from yourself, you know—it mustn't appear as if it came from me, you know.'
'In course not,' replied Mr. Plummey, 'in course not,' adding, 'I'll do my best, sir—I'll do my best.' So saying, he took up the breakfast things and departed.