Miss Jawleyford looked significantly at her sister--a long pause ensued.
'I knew a family of your name,' at length observed Mrs. Jawleyford, in the
simple sort of way women begin pumping men. 'I knew a family of your name,'
repeated she, seeing Sponge was half asleep--'the Sponges of Toadey Hall.
Pray are they any relation of yours?'
'Oh--ah--yes,' blurted Sponge: 'I suppose they are. The fact
is--the--haw--Sponges--haw--are a rather large family--haw. Meet them
almost everywhere.'
'You don't live in the same county, perhaps?' observed Mrs. Jawleyford.
'No, we don't,' replied he, with a yawn.
'Is yours a good hunting country?' asked Jawleyford, thinking to sound him
in another way.
'No; a devilish bad 'un,' replied Sponge, adding with a grunt, 'or I
wouldn't be here.'
'Who hunts it?' asked Mr. Jawleyford.
'Why, as to that--haw,'--replied Sponge, stretching out his arms and legs
to their fullest extent, and yawning most vigorously--'why, as to that, I
can hardly say which you would call my country, for I have to do with so
many; but I should say, of all the countries I am--haw--connected
with--haw--Tom Scratch's is the worst.
Pages:
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212