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An Old Friend ABOUT A FORTNIGHT AFTER the above catastrophe, and as the recollection of it was nearly effaced by Miss Jumpheavys abduction of Ensign Downley, our friend, Mr Waffles, on visiting his stud at the four oclock stable-hour, found a most respectable, middle-aged, rosy-gilled, better-sort-of-farmer-looking man, straddling his tight drab-trousered legs, with a twisted ash plant propping his chin, behind the redoubtable Hercules. He had a bran-new hat on, a velvet-collared blue coat with metal buttons, that anywhere but in the searching glare and contrast of London might have passed for a spic-and-span new one; a small, striped, step-collared toilanette vest; and the aforesaid drab trousers, in the right-hand pocket of which his disengaged hand kept fishing up and slipping down an avalanche of silver, which made a pleasant musical accompaniment to his monetary conversation. On seeing Mr Waffles, the stranger touched his hat, and appeared to be about to retire, when Mr Figg, the stud-groom, thus addressed his master: This be Mr Buckram, sir, of London, sir; says he knows our brown orse, sir. Ah, indeed, observed Mr Waffles, taking a cigar from his mouth; knows no good of him, I should think. What part of London do you live in, Mr Buckram? asked he. Why, I doesnt exactly live in London, my lord -- thats to say, sir -- a little way out of it, you know -- have a little hindependence of my own, you understand. Hang it, how should I understand anything of the sort -- never set eyes on you before, replied Mr Waffles. The half-crowns now began to descend singly in the pocket, keeping up a protracted jingle, like the notes of a lazy, undecided musical snuff-box. By the time the last had dropped, Mr Buckram had collected himself sufficiently to resume. Taking the ash-plant away from his mouth, with which he had been barricading his lips, he observed, I knowd that oss when Lord Bullfrog had him, nodding his head at our old friend as he spoke. The deuce you did! observed Mr Waffles; where was that? In Leicestersheer, replied Mr Buckram. I have a haunt as lives at Mount Sorrel; she has a little hindependence of her own, and I goes down casionally to see her -- in fact, I believes Im her hare. Well, I was down there just at the beginnin of the season, the ounds met at Kirby Gate -- a mile or two to the south, you know, on the Leicester road -- it was the fust day of the season, in fact -- and there was a great crowd, and I was one; and havin a heye for an oss, I was struck with this one, you understand, bein, as I thought, a ticklar nice un. Lord Bullfrogs man was a ridin of him, and he kept him outside the crowd, showin off his pints, and passin him backwards and forwards under peoples noses, to tract the notish of the nobs -- parsecutin, what I call -- and I seed Mr Sponge struck -- Ive known Mr Sponge many years, and a ticklar nice gent he is -- well, Mr Sponge pulled hup, and said to the grum, Whos o that oss? My Lor Bullfrogs, sir, said the man. Hes a deuced nice un, observed Mr Sponge, thinkin, as he was a lords, he might praise im, seein, in all probability, he werent for sale. He is that, said the grum, patting him on the neck, as though he were special fond on him. Is my lord out? asked Mr Sponge. No, sir; hes not comed down yet, replied the man, nor do I know when he will come. Hes been down at Bath for some time, sociatin with the aldermen o Bristol, and has thrown up a vast o bad flesh -- two stun sin last season -- and hes afeared this oss wont be able to carry him, and so he writ to me to take im out today to show im. Hed carry me, I think, said Mr Sponge, making hup his mind on the moment, jist as he makes hup his mind to ride at a fence -- not that I think its a good plan for a gent to show that hes sweet on an oss, for theyre sure to make him pay for it. Howsomever, thats nouther here nor there. Well, jist as Mr Sponge said this, Sir Richard driv hup, and havin got his oss, away we trotted to the goss jist below, and the next thing I seed was Mr Sponge leadin the ole field on this werry nag. Well, I heard no more till I got to Melton, for I didnt go to my haunts at Mount Sorrel that night, and I saw little of the run, for my oss was rather puffy, livin principally on chaff, bran mashes, Swedes, and soft food; and when I got to Melton, I heard ow Mr Sponge had bought this oss, Mr Buckram |
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