Digital primer

'Ah, but what have _I_ got!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, producing a gaudily
done-up paper of comfits from his pocket, opening and distributing the
unwholesome contents along the line, stopping the orator's mouth first with
a great, red-daubed, almond comfit.
Breakfast was then proceeded with without further difficulty. As it drew to
a close, and Mr. Sponge began nibbling at the sweets instead of continuing
his attack on the solids, Mrs. Jogglebury began eyeing and telegraphing her
husband.
'Jog, my dear,' said she, looking significantly at him, and then at the
egg-stand, which still contained three eggs.
'Well, my dear,' replied Jog, with a vacant stare, pretending not to
understand.
'You'd better eat them,' said she, looking again at the eggs.
'I've (puff) breakfasted, my (wheeze) dear,' replied Jog pompously, wiping
his mouth on his claret-coloured bandana.
'They'll be wasted if you don't,' replied Mrs. Jog.
'Well, but they'll be wasted if I eat them without (wheeze) wanting them,'
rejoined he.
'Nonsense, Jog, you always say that,' retorted his wife.


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