Digital primer

Meanwhile Jog was shuffling his little axe from below the
cushion of the driving-seat into the pocket of his great-coat. All of a
sudden he pulled up, as they were passing a bank of wood (Hackberry Dean),
and handing the reins to his companion, said:
'Just lay hold for a minute whilst I (puff) out.'
'What's happened?' asked Sponge. 'Not sick again, are you?'
'No (puff), not exactly (wheeze) sick, but I want to be out all the (puff)
same.'
So saying, out he bundled, and, crushing through the fern-grown woodbiney
fence, darted into the wood in a way that astonished our hero. Presently
the chop, chop, chop of the axe revealed the mystery.
'By the powers, the fool's at his sticks!' exclaimed Sponge, disgusted at
the contretemps. 'Mister Jogglebury!' roared he, 'Mister Jogglebury, we
shall never catch up the hounds at this rate!'
But Jog was deaf--chop, chop, chop was all the answer Mr. Sponge got.
'Well, hang me if ever I saw such a fellow!' continued Sponge, thinking he
would drive on if he only knew the way.


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