Digital primer

'Chop, chop, chop,' continued the axe.
'Mister Jogglebury! Mister Jogglebury Crowdey _a-hooi_!' roared Sponge, at
the top of his voice.
[Illustration: MR. JOGGLEBURY CROWDEY ON HIS HOBBY]
The axe stopped. 'Anybody comin'?' resounded from the wood.
'_You come_,' replied Mr. Sponge.
'Presently,' was the answer; and the chop, chop, chopping was resumed.
'The man's mad,' muttered Mr. Sponge, throwing himself back in the seat.
At length Jog appeared brushing and tearing his way out of the wood, with
two fine hollies under his arm. He was running down with perspiration, and
looked anxiously up and down the road as he blundered through the fence to
see if there was any one coming.
'I really think (puff) this will make a four-in-hander (wheeze),' exclaimed
he, as he advanced towards the carriage, holding a holly so as to show its
full length--'not that I (puff, wheeze, gasp) do much in that (puff,
wheeze) line, but really it is such a (puff, wheeze) beauty that I couldn't
(puff, wheeze, gasp) resist it.'
'Well, but I thought we were going to hunt,' observed Mr.


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