'No,' replied Jog, pompously handing Sponge the whip and reins.
He then rose deliberately from his seat, and slowly unbuttoned each
particular button of the brown great-coat he had over the tight black
hunting one. He then unbuttoned the black, and next the right-hand pocket
of the white moleskins, in which he carried his money. He then deliberately
fished up his green-and-gold purse, a souvenir of Miss Smiler (the
plaintiff in the breach-of-promise action, Smiler _v._ Jogglebury), and
holding it with both hands before his eyes, to see which end contained the
silver, he slowly drew the slide, and took out a shilling, though there
were plenty of sixpences in.
This gave the man an errand into the toll-house to get one, and, by way of
marking his attention, when he returned he said, in the negative way that
country people put a question:
'You'll not need a ticket, will you?'
'Ticket (puff), ticket (wheeze)?' repeated Jog thoughtfully. 'Yes, I'll
take a ticket,' said he.
'Oh! hang it, no,' replied Sponge; 'let's get on!' stamping against the
bottom of the phaeton to set the horse a-going.
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