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Jogglebury was posed, and sat silent.


CHAPTER XLV
THE DISCOMFITED DIPLOMATIST

Well, then, as we said before, when one door shuts another opens; and just
as Mr. Puffington's door was closing on poor Mr. Sponge, who should cast up
but our newly introduced friend, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey. Mr. Sponge was
sitting in solitary state in the fine drawing-room, studying his old friend
_Mogg_, calculating what he could ride from Spur Street, Leicester Square,
by Short's Gardens, and across Waterloo Bridge, to the Elephant and Castle
for, when the grinding of a vehicle on the gravelled ring attracted his
attention. Looking out of the window, he saw a horse's head in a faded-red,
silk-fronted bridle, with the letters 'J.C.' on the winkers; not 'J.C.'
writhing in the elegant contortions of modern science, but 'J.C.' in the
good, plain, matter-of-fact characters we have depicted above.
'That'll be the doctor,' said Mr. Sponge to himself, as he resumed his
reading and calculations, amidst a peal of the door-bell, well calculated
to arouse the whole house.


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