354 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



stuck up under his nose like a hand-saw ; "put off the dinner 

 (wheeze), put off the dinner (puff), I wish you wouldn't do such 

 (wheeze) things without consulting (gasp) me." 



" Well, but, my dear, you couldn't possibly sit down without 

 him," observed Mrs. Jog, mildly. 



" Possibly ! (puff), possibly ! (wheeze)," repeated Jog. "There's 

 no possibly in the matter," retorted he, blowing more furiously 

 into the frill. 



Mrs. Jog was silent. 



"A man should conform to the (puff) hours of the (wheeze) 

 house," observed Jog, after a pause. 



" Well, but, my dear, you know hunters are always allowed a little 

 law," observed Mrs. Jog. 



" Law ! (puff ), law ! (wheeze)," retorted Jog. " I never want 

 any law," thinking of Smiler v. Jogglebury. 



Half-past five o'clock came, and still no Sponge ; and Mrs. Jog, 

 thinking it would be better to arrange to have something hot for 

 him when he came, than to do further battle with her husband, 

 gave the bell the double ring indicative of " bring dinner." 



"Nay (puff), nay (wheeze) ; when you have (gasp)ed so long," 

 growled Jog, taking the other tack, " you might as well have 

 (wheez)ed a little longer " — snorting into his frill as he spoke. 



Mrs. Jogglebury said nothing, but slipped quietly out, as if after 

 her keys, to tell Susan to keep so-and-so in the meat-screen, and 

 have a few potatoes ready to boil against Mr. Sponge arrived. 

 She then sidled back quietly into the room. Jog and she presently 

 proceeded to that all-important meal, Jog blowing out the com- 

 pany-candles on the side table as he passed. 



Jog munched away with a capital appetite ; but Mrs. Jog, who 

 took the bulk of her lading in at the children's dinner, sat trifling 

 with the contents of her plate, listening alternately for the sound 

 of horses' hoofs outside, and for nursery squalls in. 



Dinner passed over, and the fruity port and sugary sherry soon 

 usurped the places that stick-jaw pudding and cheese had occupied. 



" Mr. (puff ) Sponge must be (wheeze), I think," observed Jog, 

 hauling his great silver watch out, like a bucket, from his fob, on 

 seeing that it only wanted ten minutes to seven. 



" Oh, Jog ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jog, clasping her beautiful hand3, 

 and casting her bright beady eyes up to the low ceiling. 



" Oh, Jog ! AVhat's the matter now ? (puff — wheeze — gasp)," 

 exclaimed our friend, reddening up, and fixing his stupid eyes 

 intently on his wife. 



" Oh, nothing," replied Mrs. Jog, unclasping her hands, and 

 bringing down her eyes. 



"Oh, nothin'!" retorted Jog. "Nothin?!" repeated he. 

 " Ladies don't get into such tantrums for nothin'." 



