ME. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 307 



sion, beginning with that greatest of all wonders, Gustavus James, 

 and running on with Anna Maria, Frederick John, Juliana Jane, 

 Margaret Henrietta, Sarah Amelia, down to Peter William, the 

 heir, who sat next his pa. These formed a close line on the 

 side of the table opposite the fire, that side being left for 

 Mr. Sponge. All the children had clean pinafores on, and their 

 hairs plastered according to nursery regulation. Mr. Sponge's 

 appearance was a signal for silence, and they all sat staring at him 

 in mute astonishment. 



Baby, Gustavus James, did more ; for, after reconnoitring him 

 through a sort of lattice window formed of his fingers, he whined 

 out, " Who's that ogl-e-y man, ma ? " amidst the titter of the rest 

 of the line. 



" Hush! my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Crowdey, hoping Mr. Sponge 

 hadn't heard. But Gustavus James was not to be put down, 

 and he renewed the charge as his mamma began pouring out the 

 tea. 



" Send that ogl-e-y man away, ma!" whined he, in a louder tone, 

 at which all the children burst out a laughing. 



"Baby (puff), Gustavus ! (wheeze)," exclaimed Jog, knocking 

 with the handle of his knife against the table, and frowning at the 

 prodigy. 



" Well, pa, he is a ogl-e-y man," replied the child, amid the ill- 

 suppressed laughter of the rest. 



" Ah, but what have / got ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, producing 

 a gaudily done-up paper of comfits from his pocket, opening and 

 distributing the unwholesome contents along the line, stopping the 

 orator's mouth first with a great, red-daubed, almond comfit. 



Breakfast was then proceeded with without further difficulty. 

 As it drew to a close, and Mr. Sponge began nibbling at the sweets 

 instead of continuing his attack on the solids, Mrs. Jogglebury 

 began eyeing and telegraphing her husband. 



" Jog, my dear," said she, looking significantly at him, and then 

 at the egg-stand, which still contained three eggs. 



" Well, my dear," replied Jog, with a vacant stare, pretending 

 not to understand. 



"You'd better cat them," said she, looking again at the eggs. 



"I've (puff) breakfasted, my (wheeze) dear," replied Jog, 

 pompously, wiping his mouth on his claret-coloured bandana. 



"They'll be wasted if you don't," replied Mrs. Jog. 



" Well, but they'll be wasted if I cat them without (wheeze) 

 wanting them," rejoined he. 



" Nonsense, Jog, you always say that," retorted his wife. 



" Nonsense (puff), nonsense (wheeze), I say they tvill." 



" I say they won't ! " replied Mrs. Jog ; " now will they, Mr. 

 Sponge ? " continued she, appealing to our friend. 



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