Mr. Sponges Sporting Tour | Page 8

one's 'ands, for, in the fust place, he's wery walueous, and in the second,
he requires an ossman to ride; howsomever, as I knows that you can
ride, and if you doesn't mind taking my 'ead man,' jerking his elbow at
Leather, 'to look arter him, I wouldn't mind 'commodatin' on you,
prowided we can 'gree upon terms.'
'Well, let's see him,' interrupted Sponge, 'and we can talk about terms
after.'
'Certainly, sir, certainly,' replied Buckram, again letting loose a
reaccumulated rush of silver down his pocket. 'Here, Tom! Joe! Harry!
where's Sam?' giving the little tinkler of a bell a pull as he spoke.

'Sam be in the straw 'ouse,' replied Leather, passing through a stable
into a wooden projection beyond, where the gentleman in question was
enjoying a nap.
'Sam!' said he, 'Sam!' repeated he, in a louder tone, as he saw the object
of his search's nose popping through the midst of the straw.
'What now?' exclaimed Sam, starting up, and looking wildly around;
'what now?' repeated he, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.
'Get out Ercles,' said Leather, sotto voce.
The lad was a mere stripling--some fifteen or sixteen, years,
perhaps--tall, slight, and neat, with dark hair and eyes, and was dressed
in a brown jacket--a real boy's jacket, without laps, white cords, and
top-boots. It was his business to risk his neck and limbs at all hours of
the day, on all sorts of horses, over any sort of place that any person
chose to require him to put a horse at, and this he did with the daring
pleasure of youth as yet undaunted by any serious fall. Sam now
bestirred himself to get out the horse. The clambering of hoofs
presently announced his approach.
Whether Hercules was called Hercules on account of his amazing
strength, or from a fanciful relationship to the famous horse of that
name, we know not; but his strength and his colour would favour either
supposition. He was an immense, tall, powerful, dark brown, sixteen
hands horse, with an arched neck and crest, well set on, clean, lean
head, and loins that looked as if they could shoot a man into the next
county. His condition was perfect. His coat lay as close and even as
satin, with cleanly developed muscle, and altogether he looked as hard
as a cricket-ball. He had a famous switch tail, reaching nearly to his
hocks, and making him look less than he would otherwise have done.
Mr. Sponge was too well versed in horse-flesh to imagine that such an
animal would be in the possession of such a third-rate dealer as
Buckram, unless there was something radically wrong about him, and
as Sam and Leather were paying the horse those stable attentions that
always precede a show out, Mr. Sponge settled in his own mind that the

observation about his requiring a horseman to ride him, meant that he
was vicious. Nor was he wrong in his anticipations, for not all Leather's
whistlings, or Sam's endearings and watchings, could conceal the
sunken, scowling eye, that as good as said, 'you'd better keep clear of
me.'
Mr. Sponge, however, was a dauntless horseman. What man dared he
dared, and as the horse stepped proudly and freely out of the stable, Mr.
Sponge thought he looked very like a hunter. Nor were Mr. Buckram's
laudations wanting in the animal's behalf.
'There's an 'orse!' exclaimed he, drawing his right hand out of his
trouser pocket, and flourishing it towards him. 'If that 'orse were down
in Leicestersheer,' added he, 'he'd fetch three 'under'd guineas. Sir
Richard would 'ave him in a minnit--_that he would!_' added he, with a
stamp of his foot as he saw the animal beginning to set up his back and
wince at the approach of the lad. (We may here mention by way of
parenthesis, that Mr. Buckram had brought him out of Warwicksheer
for thirty pounds, where the horse had greatly distinguished himself, as
well by kicking off sundry scarlet swells in the gaily thronged streets of
Leamington, as by running away with divers others over the
wide-stretching grazing grounds of Southam and Dunchurch.)
But to our story. The horse now stood staring on view: fire in his eye,
and vigour in his every limb. Leather at his head, the lad at his side.
Sponge and Buckram a little on the left.
'W--h--o--a--a--y, my man, w--h--o--a--a--y,' continued Mr. Buckram,
as a liberal show of the white of the eye was followed by a little wince
and hoist of the hind quarters on the nearer approach of the lad.
'Look sharp, boy,' said he, in a very different tone to the soothing one in
which he had just been addressing the horse. The lad lifted up his leg
for a hoist.