278 mr. sponge's sporting tour. 



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 he ? " 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 Crowcley, 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" said Mr. Sponge, with a similar bow. 



" Fine clay (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, I should saj-," 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 (wheeze) respects 

 to you," observed he, drawing a great carved Indian case from his 

 pocket, and pulling off the top with a noise like the drawing of a 



