'There'll be the horse you drove yesterday; won't you go to see how he is?' asked Mr. Sponge.
'Oh, sure to be well (puff); never nothing the matter with him (wheeze),' replied Jogglebury.
'May as well see,' rejoined Mr. Sponge, turning up a narrow walk that seemed to lead to the back.
Jog followed doggedly. He had a good deal of John Bull in him, and did not fancy being taken possession of in that sort of way; and thought, moreover, that Mr. Sponge had not behaved very well in the matter of the egg controversy.
The stables certainly were nothing to boast of. They were in an old rubble-stone, red-tiled building, without even the delicacy of a ceiling. Nevertheless, there was plenty of room even after Jogglebury had cut off one end for a cow-house.
'Why, you might hunt the country with all this stabling,' observed Mr. Sponge, as he entered the low door. 'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Nine stalls, I declare,' added he, after counting them.
'My (puff) uncle used to (wheeze) a good deal of his own (puff) land,' replied Jogglebury.
'Ah, well, I'll tell you what: these stables will be much better for being occupied,' observed Mr. Sponge. 'And I'll tell you what I'll do for you.'
'But they are occupied!' gasped Jogglebury, convulsively.
'Only half,' replied Mr. Sponge; 'or a quarter, I may say—not even that, indeed. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll have my horses over here, and you shall find them in straw in return for the manure, and just charge me for hay and corn at market price, you know. That'll make it all square and fair, and no obligation, you know. I hate obligations,' added he, eyeing Jog's disconcerted face.