3IR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 3C1 



repeated he, somewhat louder. " Bar — tholo — m — e — w ! " 

 roared he, in a voice of thunder. 

 Bartholomew did not answer. 



" Murry Ann ! " exclaimed Jog, after a pause. " Murry Ann ! " 

 repeated he, still louder. " Murry Ann ! " roared he, at the top 

 of his voice. 



" Comin', sir! comin' !" exclaimed Mary Ann, peeping down 

 upon him from the garret-window. 



" Oh, Murry Ann," cried Mr. Jog, looking up, and catching the 

 ends of her blue ribbons streaming past the window-frame, as she 

 -changed her nightcap for a day one, — " Oh, Murry Ann, you'd 

 better be (puff)in' forrard with the (gasp) breakfast ; Mr. Sponge 

 'll most likely be (wheezc)in' away to-day." 



" Yes, sir," replied Mary Ann, adjusting the cap becomingly. 



" Confounded, puffing, wheezing, gasping, broken-winded old 

 blockhead it is ! " growled Mr. Sponge, wishing he could get to 

 his former earth at Puffington's, or anywhere else. "When he got 

 down he found Jog in a very roomy, bright, green-plush shooting- 

 jacket, with pockets innumerable, and a whistle suspended to a 

 button-hole. His nether man was encased in a pair of most 

 dilapidated white moleskins, that had been degraded from hunting 

 into shooting ones, and whose cracks and darns showed the perils 

 to which their wearer had been exposed. Below these were drab, 

 horn-buttoned gaiters, and hob-nailed shoes. 



" Going a-gunning, are you ? " asked Mr. Sponge, after the 

 morning salutation, which Jog returned most gruffly. 



" I'll go with you," said Mr. Sponge, at once dispelling the de- 

 lusion of his wheezing away. 



" Only going to frighten the (puff) rooks off the (gasp) wheat," 

 replied Jog, carelessly, not wishing to let Sponge see what a numb 

 hand he was with a gun. 



"I thought you told me you were going to get me a hare," 

 observed Mrs. Jog ; adding, " I'm sure shooting is a much more 

 rational amusement than tearing your clothes going after the 

 hounds," eyeing the much-dilapidated moleskins as she spoke. 



Mrs. Jog found shooting more useful than hunting. 



" Oh, if a (puff) hare comes in my (gasp) way, I'll turn her 

 over," replied Jog, carelessly, as if turning them over was quite a 

 matter of course with him ; adding, " but I'm not (wheezing) out 

 for the express purpose of shooting one." 



" Ah, well," observed Sponge, " I'll go with you, all the same." 



" But I've only got one gun," gasped Jog, thinking it would be 

 worse to have Sponge laughing at his shooting than even leaving 

 him at home. 



" Then, we'll ihoot turn and turnabout," replied the pertinacious 

 guest. 



