336 



MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



11 Yes, sir! here, sir ! " exclaimed that invaluable servant, tidy- 

 ing her pink-ribboned cap as she hurried into the passage below. 

 Looking up, she caught sight of her master's great sallow chaps hang- 

 ing like a flitch of bacon over the garret banister. 



Oh, Murry Ann," bellowed Mr. Jog, at the top of his voice, still 

 holding his hands to his mouth, as soon as he saw her, " Oh, Murry 

 Ann, you'd better get the (puff) breakfast ready ; I think the (gasp) 

 Mr. Sponge will be (wheezing) away to-day." 



" Yes, sir," replied Mary Ann. 



" And tell Bartholomew to get his washin' bills in." 

 ^ " He harn't had no washin' done," replied Mary Ann, raising her 

 voice to correspond with that of her master. 



" Then his bill for postage," replied Mr. Jog, in the same tone. 



" He harn't had no letters neither," replied Mary Ann. 



" Oh, then, just get the breakfast ready," rejoined Jog ; adding, 

 " he'll be (wheezing) away as soon as he gets it, I (puff) expect." 



" Will he," said Mr. Sponge to himself, as, with throbbing head, 

 he lay tumbling about in bed, alleviating the recollections of the 

 previous day's debauch with an occasional dive into his old friend 

 "Mogg." Corporeally, he was in bed at Puddingpote Bower, but, 

 mentally, he was at the door of the Goose and Gridiron, in St. Paul's 

 Churchyard, waiting for the three o'clock buss, coming from the 

 Bank to take him to Isleworth Gate. 



Jog's bellow to " Bartholo — m — e — w " interrupted the journey, 

 just as in imagination Mr. Sponge was putting his foot on the wheel 

 and hallooing to the driver to hand him the strap to help him on to 

 the box. 



" Will he" said Mr. Sponge to himself, as he heard Jog's re- 

 iterated assertion that he would be wheezing away that day. " Wish 

 you may get it, old boy," added he, tucking the now backless " Mogg " 

 under his pillow, and turning over for a snooze. 



When he got down, he found the party ranged at breakfast, minus 

 the interesting prodigy, Gustavus James, whom Sponge proceeded to 

 inquire after as soon as he had made his obeisance to his host and 

 hostess, and distributed a round of daubed comfits to the rest of the 

 juvenile party. 



" But where's my little friend, Augustus James ? " asked he, on 

 arriving at the wonder's high chair by the side of mamma. — "Where's 

 my little friend, Augustus James ? " asked he, with an air of con- 

 cern. 



" Oh, Gustavus James," replied Mrs. Jog, with an emphasis on 

 Gustavus; " Gustavus James is not very well this morning; had a 

 little indigestion during the night." 



" Poor little hound," observed Mr. Sponge, filling his mouth with 

 hot kidney, glad to be rid for a time of the prodigy. " I thought I 

 heard a row when I came home, which was rather late for an early 



