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He had been at it so long, and argued so stoutly, that Mrs.
Jogglebury Crowdey, if not quite convinced of the accuracy of his
calculations, nevertheless thought it well to encourage his hunting
predilections, inasmuch as it brought him in contact with people he would
not otherwise meet, who, she thought, might possibly be useful to their
children. Accordingly, she got him his breakfast betimes on
hunting-mornings, charged his pockets with currant-buns, and saw to the
mending of his moleskins when he came home, after any of those casualties
that occur as well in the chase as in gibbey-stick hunting.
A stranger being a marked man in a rural country, Mr. Sponge excited more
curiosity in Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey's mind than Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey did
in Mr. Sponge's. In truth, Jogglebury was one of those unsportsmanlike
beings, that a regular fox-hunter would think it waste of words to inquire
about, and if Mr. Sponge saw him, he did not recollect him; while, on the
other hand, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey went home very full of our friend.


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