'What, you're a literary cove, are you?' asked Facey, in a tone of surprise.
'Not exactly that,' replied Sponge; 'but I like to improve my mind.' He then opened the valuable work, taking a dip into the Omnibus Guide—'Brentford, 7 from Hyde Park Corner—European Coffee House, near the Bank, daily,' and so worked his way on through the 'Brighton Railway Station, Brixton, Bromley both in Kent and Middlesex, Bushey Heath, Camberwell, Camden Town, and Carshalton,' right into Cheam, when Facey, who had been eyeing him intently, not at all relishing his style of proceeding and wishing to be doing, suddenly exclaimed, as he darted up:
FACEY ROMFORD TREATS SPONGE TO A LITTLE MUSIC
'B-o-y Jove! You've not heard me play the flute! No more you have. Dash it, how remiss!' continued he, making for the little bookshelf on which it lay; adding, as he blew into it and sucked the joints, 'you're musical, of course?'
'Oh, I can stand music,' muttered Sponge, with a jerk of his head, as if a tune was neither here nor there with him.
'By Jingo! you should see me Oncle Gilroy when a'rm playin'! The old man act'ly sheds tears of delight—he's so pleased.'
'Indeed,' replied Sponge, now passing on into Mogg's Cab Fares—'Aldersgate Street, Hare Court, to or from Bagnigge Wells,' and so on, when Facey struck up the most squeaking, discordant, broken-winded
'Jump Jim Crow'
that ever was heard, making the sensitive Sponge shudder, and setting all his teeth on edge.