Digital primer

Jawleyford looked out on the terrace, upon which the angry rain was beating
the standing water into bubbles, and observing that there was no chance of
getting out, asked Mr. Sponge if he could amuse himself in the house.
'Oh yes,' replied he, 'got a book in my pocket.'
'Ah, I suppose--the _New Monthly_, perhaps?' observed Mr. Jawleyford.
'No,' replied Sponge.
'Dizzey's _Life of Bentinck_, then, I dare say,' suggested Jawleyford;
adding, 'I'm reading it myself.'
'No, nor that either,' replied Sponge, with a knowing look; 'a much more
useful work, I assure you,' added he, pulling the little purple-backed
volume out of his pocket, and reading the gilt letters on the back:
'_Mogg's Ten Thousand Cab Fares_. Price one shilling!'
'Indeed,' exclaimed Mr. Jawleyford, 'well, I should never have guessed
that.'
'I dare say not,' replied Sponge, 'I dare say not, it's a book I never
travel without. It's invaluable in town, and you may study it to great
advantage in the country. With _Mogg_ in my hand, I can almost fancy myself
in both places at once.


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