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'Oh, nonsense,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury; 'there's no saying when a
fox-hunter may break his neck. My word! but Mrs. Slooman tells me pretty
stories of Sloo's doings with the harriers--jumping over hurdles, and
everything that comes in the way, and galloping along the stony lanes as if
the wind was a snail compared to his horse. I tell you. Jog, you should
call on this gentleman--'
'Well,' replied Mr. Jogglebury.
'And ask him to come and stay here,' continued Mrs. Jogglebury.
'Perhaps he mightn't like it (puff),' replied Jogglebury. 'I don't know
that we could (puff) entertain him as he's (wheeze) accustomed to be,'
added he.
'Oh, nonsense,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury; 'we can entertain him well enough.
You always say fox-hunters are not ceremonious. I tell you what, Jog, you
don't think half enough of yourself. You are far too easily set aside. My
word! but I know some people who would give themselves pretty airs if their
husband was chairman of a board of guardians, and trustee of I don't know
how many of Her Majesty's turnpike roads,' Mrs.


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