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' So saying,
he walked away, leaving Jogglebury petrified at his impudence.
'That husband of yours is a monstrous good fellow,' observed Mr. Sponge to
Mrs. Jogglebury, who he now met coming out with her tail: 'he _will_ insist
on my having my horses over here--most liberal, handsome thing of him, I'm
sure; and that reminds me, can you manage to put up my servant?'
'I dare say we can,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury thoughtfully. 'He's not a very
fine gentleman, is he?' asked she, knowing that servants were often more
difficult to please than their masters. 'Oh, not at all,' replied Sponge;
'not at all--wouldn't suit me if he was--wouldn't suit me if he was.'
Just then up waddled Jogglebury, puffing and wheezing like a stranded
grampus; the idea having just struck him that he might get off on the plea
of not having room for the servant.
'It's very unfortunate (wheeze)--that's to say, it never occurred to me
(puff), but I quite forgot (gasp) that we haven't (wheeze) room for your
(puff) servant.'
'Ah, you are a good fellow,' replied Mr.


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