'Nonsense (puff),
nonsense (wheeze), I say they _will_.'
'I say they _won't_!' replied Mrs. Jog; 'now will they, Mr. Sponge?'
continued she, appealing to our friend.
'Why, no, not so much as if they went out,' replied our friend, thinking
Mrs. Jog was the one to side with.
'Then you'd better (puff, wheeze, gasp) eat them between you,' replied Jog,
getting up and strutting out of the room.
Presently he appeared in front of the house, crowned in a pea-green
wide-awake, with a half-finished gibbey in his hand; and as Mr. Sponge did
not want to offend him, and moreover wanted to get his horses billeted on
him, he presently made an excuse for joining him.
Although his horses were standing 'free gratis,' as he called it, at Mr.
Puffington's, and though he would have thought nothing of making Mr.
Leather come over with one each hunting morning, still he felt that if the
hounds were much on the other side of Puddingpote Bower, it would not be so
convenient as having them there. Despite the egg controversy, he thought a
judicious application of soft sawder might accomplish what he wanted.
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