Sponge, now putting a large
piece of cold beef into his mouth.
'Not a 'ung man,' muttered the child, bursting out a-crying, and extending
his little fat arms to his mamma.
'No, my angel, not a 'ung man yet,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury, taking him out
of the chair, and hugging him to her bosom.
'He'll be a man before his mother for all that,' observed Mr. Sponge,
nothing disconcerted by the noise.
Jog had now finished his breakfast, and having pocketed three buns and two
pieces of toast, with a thick layer of cold ham between them, looked at his
great warming-pan of a watch, and said to his guest, 'When you're (wheeze),
I'm (puff).' So saying he got up, and gave his great legs one or two
convulsive shakes, as if to see that they were on.
Mrs. Jogglebury looked reproachfully at him, as much as to say, 'How _can_
you behave so?'
Mr. Sponge, as he eyed Jog's ill-made, queerly put on garments, wished that
he had not desired Leather to go to the meet. It would have been better to
have got the horses a little way off, and have shirked Jog, who did not
look like a desirable introducer to a hunting field.
Pages:
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673