MR. sponge's SPORTING TOUR. 333 



hauling his great silver ^atch 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 hands, 

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



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

 claimed our friend, reddening up, and fixing his stupid eyes intently 

 on his wife. 



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

 ing down her eyes. 



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

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



" Well, then, Jog, I was thinking if anything should have ha — ha 

 — happened Mr. Sponge, how G-ustavus Ja — Ja — James will have 

 lost his chance." And thereupon she dived for her lace-fringed 

 pocket-handkerchief, and hurried out of the room. 



But Mrs. Jog had said quite enough to make the caldron of Jog's 

 jealousy boil over, and he sat staring into the fire, imagining all sorts 

 of horrible devices in the coals and cinders, and conjuring up all sorts 

 of evils, until he felt himself possessed of a hundred and twenty 

 thousand devils. 



" I'll get shot of this chap at last," said he, with a knowing jerk 

 of his head and a puff into his frill, as he drew his thick legs under 

 his chair, and made a semicircle to get at the bottle. " I'll get 

 shot of this chap," repeated he, pouring himself out a bumper of the 

 syrupy port, and eyeing it at the composite candle. He drained off the 

 glass, and immediately filled another. That x too, went down ; then 

 he took another, and another, and another ; and seeing the bottle get 

 low, he thought he might as well finish it. He felt better after it. 

 Not that he was a bit more reconciled to our friend Mr. Sponge, but 

 he felt,more equal to cope with him — he even felt as if he could fight 

 him. There did not, however, seem to be much likelihood of his 

 having to perform that ceremony, for nine o'clock struck and no Mr. 

 Sponge, and at half-past Mr. Crowdey stumped off to bed. 



Mrs. Crowdey, having given Bartholomew and Susan a dirty pack 

 of cards to play with to keep them awake till Mr. Sponge arrived, 

 went to bed, too, and the house was presently tranquil. 



It, however happened, that that amazing prodigy, Gustavus James, 

 having been out on a sort of eleemosynary excursion among the 

 neighbouring farmers and people, exhibiting as well his fine blue 

 feathered hat, as his astonishing proficiency in " Bah ! bah ! black 

 sheep," and " 'Obin and Ichard," getting seed-cake from one, sponge- 

 cake from another, and toffy from a third, was troubled with a very 

 bad stomach-ache during the night, of which he soon made the house 

 sensible by his screams and his cries. Jog and his wife were presently 

 at him ; and as Jog sat in his white cotton nightcap and flowing flan- 

 nel dressing-gown in an easy chair in the nursery, he heard the crack 



