'Where are the hounds next week?' asked Sponge, sipping away at it. 'Monday, Larkhall Hill; Tuesday, the cross-roads by Dallington Burn; Thursday, the Toll-bar at Whitburrow Green; Saturday, the kennels,' replied Jack. 'Good places?' asked Sponge. 'Monday's good,' replied Jack; 'draw Thorney Gorse--sure find; second draw, Barnlow Woods, and home by Loxley, Padmore, and so on.' 'What sort of a place is Tuesday?' 'Tuesday?' repeated Jack. 'Tuesday! Oh, that's the cross-roads. Capital place, unless the fox takes to Rumborrow Craigs, or gets into Seedywood Forest, when there's an end of it--at least, an end of everything except pulling one's horse's legs off in the stiff clayey rides. It's a long way from here, though,' observed Jack. 'How far?' asked Sponge. 'Good twenty miles,' replied Jack. 'It's sixteen from us; it'll be a good deal more from here.' 'His lordship will lay out overnight, then?' observed Sponge. 'Not he,' replied Jack. 'Takes better care of his sixpences than that. Up in the dark, breakfast by candlelight, grope our ways to the stable, and blunder along the deep lanes, and through all the by-roads in the country--get there somehow or another.' 'Keen hand!' observed Sponge. 'Mad!' replied Jack. They then paid their mutual respects to the port. 'He hunts there on Tuesdays,' observed Jack, setting down his glass, 'so that he may have all Wednesday to get home in, and be sure of appearing on Thursday. There's no saying where he may finish with a cross-roads' meet.' By the time the worthies had finished the bottle, they had got a certain way into each other's confidence. The hint Lord Scamperdale had given about buying Sponge's horses still occupied Jack's mind; and the more he considered the subject, and the worth of a corner in his lordship's will, the more sensible he became of the truth of the old adage, that 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' 'My lord,' thought Jack, 'promises fair, but it is _but_ a chance, and a remote one. He may live many years--as long, perhaps longer, than me. Indeed, he puts me on horses that are anything but calculated to promote longevity. Then he may marry a wife who may eject me, as some wives do eject their husbands' agreeable friends; or he may change his mind, and leave me nothing after all.'