MX. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 295 



bell, well calculated to arouse the whole house. " He's a good un 

 to ring ! " added he, looking up and wondering when the last 

 lingering tinkle would cease. 



Before the fact was ascertained, there was a hurried tramp of 

 feet past the drawing-room door, and presently the entrance one 

 opened and let in — a rush of wind. 



" Is Mr. Sponge at home ? " demanded a slow, pompous-speaking, 

 deep-toned voice, evidently from the vehicle. 



" Yez-ur," was the immediate answer. 



" Who can that be ? " exclaimed Sponge, pocketing his Mogg. 



Then there was a creaking of springs and a jingling against 

 iron steps, and presently a high-blowing, heavy-stepping body was 

 heard crossing the entrance-hall, while an out-stripping footman 

 announced Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey, leaving the owner to follow 

 his name at his leisure. 



Mrs. Jogglebury had insisted on Jog putting on his new black 

 frock — a very long coat, fitting like a sack, with the well-filled 

 pockets bagging behind, like a poor man's dinner-wallet. In lieu 

 of the shrunk and darned white moleskins, receding in apparent 

 disgust from the dingy tops, he had got his nether man enveloped 

 in a pair of fine cinnamon-coloured tweeds, with broad blue stripes 

 down the sides, and shaped out over the clumsy foot. 



Puff, wheeze, puff, he now came waddling and labouring along, 

 hat in hand, hurrying after the servant ; puff, wheeze, puff, and 

 he found himself in the room. "Your servant, sir," said he, 

 sticking himself out behind, and addressing Mr. Sponge, making 

 a ground sweep with his woolly hat. 



" Yours,' 1 '' said Mr. Sponge, with a similar bow. 



" Fine day (puff — wheeze)," observed Mr. Jogglebury, blowing 

 into his large frill. 



" It is," replied Mr. Sponge ; adding, " won't you be seated ? " 



" How's Puffington ? " gasped our visitor, sousing himself upon 

 one of the rosewood chairs in a way that threatened destruction to 

 the slender fabric. 



" Oh, he's pretty middling, / should say," replied Sponge, now 

 making up his mind that he was addressing the doctor. 



" Pretty middlin' (puff)," repeated Jogglebury, blowing into his 

 frill ; " pretty middlin' (wheeze) ; I s'pose that means he's got 

 a (puff) gumboil. My third (wheeze) girl, Margaret Henrietta, 

 has one." 



" Do you want to see him ? " asked Sponge, after a pause, which 

 seemed to indicate that his friend's conversation had come to a 

 period, or full stop. 



" No." replied Jogglebury, unconcernedly. " No ; I'll leave a 

 (puff) card for him (wheeze)," added he, fumbling in his wallet 

 behind for his card-case. "My (puff) object is to pay my 



