Digital primer

'Capital!' observed Sponge, as he wrote it.
'Equal to Littlelegs,'[2] said Jack, squinting his eyes inside out.
'We'll make a grand thing of it,' observed Sponge.
'So we will,' replied Jack, adding, 'if we had but a book of po'try we'd
weave in some lines here. You haven't a book o' no sort with you that we
could prig a little po'try from?' asked he.
'No,' replied Sponge thoughtfully. 'I'm afraid not; indeed, I'm sure not.
I've got nothin' but _Mogg's Cab Fares_.'
'Ah, that won't do,' observed Jack, with a shake of the head. 'But stay,'
said he, 'there are some books over yonder,' pointing to the top of an
Indian cabinet, and squinting in a totally different direction. 'Let's see
what they are,' added he, rising, and stumping away to where they stood. _I
Promessi Sposi_, read he off the back of one. 'What can that mean! Ah, it's
Latin,' said he, opening the volume. _Contes a ma Fille_, read he off the
back of another. 'That sounds like racin',' observed he, opening the
volume, 'it's Latin too,' said he, returning it.


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