[Illustration: MR. JOGGLEBURY INTRODUCING HIMSELF TO MR. SPONGE]
Puff, wheeze, puff, he now came waddling and labouring along, hat in hand,
hurrying after the servant; puff, wheeze, puff, and he found himself in the
room. 'Your servant, sir,' said he, sticking himself out behind, and
addressing Mr. Sponge, making a ground sweep with his woolly hat.
'_Yours_,' said Mr. Sponge, with a similar bow.
'Fine day (puff--wheeze),' observed Mr. Jogglebury, blowing into his large
frill.
'It is,' replied Mr. Sponge, adding, 'won't you be seated?'
'How's Puffington?' gasped our visitor, sousing himself upon one of the
rosewood chairs in a way that threatened destruction to the slender fabric.
'Oh, he's pretty middling, _I_ should say,' replied Sponge, now making up
his mind that he was addressing the doctor.
'Pretty middlin' (puff),' repeated Jogglebury, blowing into his frill;
'pretty middlin' (wheeze); I s'pose that means he's got a (puff) gumboil.
My third (wheeze) girl, Margaret Henrietta has one.'
'Do you want to see him?' asked Sponge, after a pause, which seemed to
indicate that his friend's conversation had come to a period, or full stop.
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