It occurred to me after you were gone, that perhaps you might not know any one.

Ours, you see, is rather an out-of-the-way country; few of our people go to town, or indeed anywhere else; they are all tarry-at-home birds.

But they'd receive you with great politeness, I'm sure--if they knew you came from here, at least,' added he.
Sponge was silent, and took a great gulp of the dull 'Wintle,' to save himself from answering.
'Was my Lord Scamperdale out ?' asked Jawleyford, seeing he was not going to get a reply.
'Why, I can really hardly tell you that,' replied Sponge.

'There were two men out, either of whom might be him; at least, they both seemed to take the lead, and--and--' he was going to say 'blow up the people,' but he thought he might as well keep that to himself.
'Stout, hale-looking men, dressed much alike, with great broad tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles on ?' asked Jawleyford.
'Just so,' replied Sponge.
'Ah, you are right, then,' rejoined Jawleyford; 'it would be my lord.' 'And who was the other ?' inquired our friend.
'Oh, that Jack Spraggon,' replied Jawleyford, curling up his nose, as if he was going to be sick; 'one of the most odious wretches under the sun.

I really don't know any man that I have so great a dislike to, so utter a contempt for, as that Jack, as they call him.' 'What is he ?' asked Sponge.
'Oh, just a hanger-on of his lordship's; the creature has nothing--nothing whatever; he lives on my lord--eats his venison, drinks his claret, rides his horses, bullies those his lordship doesn't like to tackle with, and makes himself generally useful.' 'He seems a man of that sort,' observed Sponge, as he thought over the compliment he had received.
'Well, who else had you out, then ?' asked Jawleyford.