'Mild (wheeze), mild (puff), are they?' said Jog, thinking he would try
one.
Mr. Sponge then struck a light, and, getting his own cigar well under way,
lit one for his friend, and presented it to him. They then went puffing,
and whipping, and smoking in silence. Jog spoke first. 'I'm going to be
(puff) sick,' observed he, slowly and solemnly.
'Hope not,' replied Mr. Sponge, with a hearty whiff, up into the air.
'I _am_ going to be (puff) sick,' observed Jog, after another pause.
'Be sick on your own side, then,' replied Sponge, with another hearty
whiff.
'By the (puff) powers! I _am_ (puff) sick!' exclaimed Jogglebury, after
another pause, and throwing away the cigar. 'Oh, dear!' exclaimed he, 'you
shouldn't have given me that nasty (puff) thing.'
'My dear fellow, I didn't know it would make you sick,' replied Mr. Sponge.
'Well, but (puff) if they (wheeze) other people sick, in all (puff)
probability they'll (wheeze) me. There!' exclaimed he, pulling up again.
The delays occasioned by these catastrophes, together with the time lost by
'Obin and Ichard,' threw our sportsmen out considerably.
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