Having thanked Sponge for his great kindness, and got an order on the groom (Mr.Leather) to have the horse out, Mr.Pacey took his departure to the stable, and Sponge having summoned his neighbour Mr.
Spraggon from his bed, the two proceeded to a passage window that commanded a view of the stable-yard.
Mr.Pacey presently went swaggering across it, cracking his jockey whip against his leg, followed by Mr.Leather, with a saddle on his shoulder and a bridle in his hand.
'He'd better keep his whip quiet,' observed Mr.Sponge, with a shake of his head, as he watched Pacey's movements.
'The beggar thinks he can ride anything,' observed Jack.
'He'll find his mistake out just now,' replied Sponge.
Presently the stable-door opened, and the horse stepped slowly and quietly out, looking blooming and bright after his previous day's gallop.

Pacey, running his eyes over his clean muscular legs and finely shaped form, thought he hadn't done so far amiss after all.

Leather stood at the horse's head, whistling and soothing him, feeling anything but the easy confidence that Mr.Pacey exhibited.

Putting his whip under his arm, Pacey just walked up to the horse, and, placing the point of his foot in the stirrup, hoisted himself on by the mane, without deigning to take hold of the reins.

Having soused himself into the saddle, he then began feeling the stirrups.
'How are they for length, sir ?' asked Leather, with a hitch of his hand to his forehead.
'They'll do,' replied Pacey, in a tone of indifference, gathering up the reins, and applying his left heel to the horse's side, while he gave him a touch of the whip on the other.