Digital primer

'Have you any 'baccy?' asked Jack, waddling in in his slippers, after
having sucked off his tops without the aid of a boot-jack.
'There's some in my jacket pocket,' replied Sponge, nodding to where it
hung in the wardrobe; 'but it won't do to smoke here, will it?' asked he.
'Why not?' inquired Jack.
'Such a fine room,' replied Sponge, looking around.
'Oh, fine be hanged!' replied Jack, adding, as he made for the jacket, 'no
place too fine for smokin' in.'
Having helped himself to one of the best cigars, and lighted it, Jack
composed himself cross-legged in an easy, spring, stuffed chair, while
Sponge fussed about among the writing implements, watering and stirring up
the clotted ink, and denouncing each pen in succession, as he gave it the
initiatory trial in writing the word 'Sponge.'
'Curse the pens!' exclaimed he, throwing the last bright crisp yellow thing
from him in disgust. 'There's not one among 'em that can go!--all reg'larly
stumped up.'
'Haven't you a penknife?' asked Jack, taking the cigar out of his mouth.


Pages:
525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549