MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING tour. 339 



CHAPTER LV. 



THE TRIGGER. 



Jog slept badly again, and arose next morning full of projects for 

 getting rid of his impudent, unceremonious, free-and-easy guest. 



Having tried both an up and a down-stairs shout, he now went 

 out and planted himself immediately under Mr. Sponge's bedroom 

 window, and, clearing his voice, commenced his usual vociferations. 



" Bartholo — m — e — w ! " whined he. " Bariholo — m — e — w ! " 

 repeated he, somewhat louder. "Bar — tholo — m — e — wl " roared 

 he, in a voice of thunder. 



Bartholomew did not answer. 



" Murry Ann ! " exclaimed Jog, after a pause. " Hurry Ann! " 

 repeated he, still louder. " Murry Ann ! " roared he, at the top of 

 his voice. 



" Comin,' sir ! coram' ! " exclaimed Mary Ann, peeping down upon 

 him from the garret-window. 



" Oh, Murry Ann," cried Mr. Jog, looking up, and catching the 

 ends of her blue ribbons streaming past the window-frame, as she 

 changed her nightcap for a day one, — " Oh, Murry Ann, you'd bet- 

 ter bo- (puff)in' forrard with the (gasp) breakfast; Mr. Sponge '11 

 most likely be (wheez)in' away to-day." 



" Yes, sir," replied Mary Ann, adjusting the cap becomingly. 



" Confounded, puffing, wheezing, gasping, broken-winded old 

 blockkead it is ! " growled Mr. Sponge, wishing he could get to his 

 former earth at Pumngton's, or anywhere else. When he got down 

 he found Jog in a very roomy, bright, green-plush shooting-jacket. 

 with pockets innumerable, and a whistle suspended to a button-hole. 

 His nether man was encased in a pair of most dilapidated white 

 moleskins, that had been degraded from hunting into shooting ones, 

 and whose cracks and darns showed the perils to which their wearer 

 had been exposed. Below these were drab, horn-buttoned gaiters, 

 and hob-nailed shoes. 



" Going a-gunning, are you ? " asked Mr. Sponge, after the morn- 

 ing salutation, which Jog returned most gruffly. 



" I'll go with you," said Mr. Sponge, at once dispelling the delu- 

 sion of his wheezing away. 



" Only going to frighten the (puff) rooks of the (gasp) wheat," 

 replied Jog, carelessly, not wishing to let Sponge see what a numb 

 hand he was with a gun. 



" I thought you told me you were going to get me a Jiare," b- 



