Having got up a sort of drunken simper, Sponge opened the drawing-room door, expecting to find smiling ladies in a blaze of light.

All, however, was darkness, save the expiring embers in the grate.

The tick, tick, tick, ticking of the clocks sounded wonderfully clear.
'Gone to bed!' exclaimed Sponge.
'WHO-HOOP!' shrieked Jack, at the top of his voice.
'What's smatter, gentlemen ?--What's smatter ?' exclaimed Spigot rushing in, rubbing his eyes with one hand, and holding a block tin candlestick in the other.
'Nothin',' replied Jack, squinting his eyes inside out; adding, 'get me a devilled--' (hiccup).
'Don't know how to do them here, sir,' snapped Spigot.
'Devilled turkey's leg though you do, you rascal!' rejoined Jack, doubling his fists and putting himself in posture.
'Beg pardon, sir,' replied Spigot, 'but the cook, sir, is gone to bed, sir.
Do you know, sir, what o'clock it is, sir ?' 'No,' replied Jack.
'What time is it ?' asked Sponge.
'Twenty minutes to two,' replied Spigot, holding up a sort of pocket warming-pan, which he called a watch.
'The deuce!' exclaimed Sponge.
'Who'd ha' thought it ?' muttered Jack.
'Well, then, I suppose we may as well go to bed,' observed Sponge.
'S'pose so,' replied Jack; 'nothin' more to get.' 'Do you know your room ?' asked Sponge.
'To be sure I do,' replied Jack; 'don't think I'm d--d--dr--drunk, do you ?' 'Not likely,' rejoined Sponge.
Jack then commenced a very crab-like ascent of the stairs, which fortunately were easy, or he would never have got up.

Mr.Sponge, who still occupied the state apartments, took leave of Jack at his own door, and Jack went bumping and blundering on in search of the branch passage leading to his piggery.

He found the green baize door that usually distinguishes the entrance to these secondary suites, and was presently lurching along its contracted passage.