mr. sponge's sporting tour. 287 



than she would have done if her neighbour, Mr. Makepeace, or the 

 Rev. Mr. Facey himself, had dropped in to take " pot luck," as they 

 called it. With either of these she would have wished to appear as 

 if their every-day form was more in accordance with their company 

 style, whereas Jog and she wanted to get something out of Mr. 

 Sponge, instead of electrifying him with their grandeur. That Gus- 

 tavus James was destined for greatness she had not the least doubt. 

 She began to think whether it might not be advisable to call him 

 Gustavus James Sponge. Jog, too, was comforted, at hearing there 

 were three haddocks, for though hospitably inclined, he did not at all 

 like the idea of being on short commons himself. He had sufficient 

 confidence in Mrs. Jogglebury's management — especially as the guest 

 was of her own seeking — to know that she would make up a tolerable 

 dinner. 



Nor was he out in his reckoning, for at half-past five Bartholomew 

 announced dinner, when in sailed Mrs. Crowdey fresh from the com- 

 position of it and from the becoming revision of her own dress. In- 

 stead of the loose, flowing, gipsified, stunner tartan of the morning, 

 she was attired in a close-fitting French grey silk, showing as well 

 the fulness and whiteness of her exquisite bust, as the beautiful for- 

 mation of her arms. Her raven hair was ably parted and flattened 

 on either side of her well-shaped head. Sponge felt proud of the 

 honour of having such a fine creature on his arm, and kicked about 

 in his tights more than usual. 



The dinner, though it might show symptoms of hurry, was yet 

 plentiful and good of its kind ; and, if Bartholomew had not been 

 always getting in Murry Ann's way, would have been well set on 

 and served. Jog quaffed quantities of foaming bottled porter during 

 the progress of it, and threw himself back in his chair at the end, as 

 if thoroughly overcome with his exertions. Scarcely were the wine 

 and dessert set on, ere a violent outbreak in the nursery caused Mrs. 

 Crowdey to hurry away, leaving Mr. Sponge to enjoy the company 

 of her husband. 



" You'll drink (puff) fox-hunting, I s'pose," observed Jog, after a 

 pause, helping himself to a bumper of port, and passing the bottle to 

 Sponge. 



" With all my heart," replied our hero, filling up. 



" Fine (puff, wheeze) amusement," observed Mr. Crowdey, with a 

 yawn after another pause, and beating the devil's tattoo upon the 

 table to keep himself awake. 



" Very," replied Mr. Sponge, wondering how such a thick-winded 

 chap as Jog managed to partake of it. 



" Fine (puff, wheeze) appetiser," observed Jogglebury, after an- 

 other pause. 



11 It is," replied Mr. Sponge. 



Presently Jog began to snore, and as the increasing melody of 



