'Take those filthy things away! (hiccup),' exclaimed Sir Harry, crushing
the broken china smaller under his heels; 'and (hiccup) bring some
red-herrings and soda-water. What the deuce does the (hiccup) cook mean by
not (hiccuping) things as he ought? Now,' said he, addressing Mr. Sponge,
and raking the plates and dishes up to him with the handle of his whip,
just as a gaming-table keeper rakes up the stakes, 'now,' said he, 'make
your (hiccup) game. There'll be some hot (hiccup) in directly.' He meant to
say 'tea,' but the word failed him.
Mr. Sponge fell to with avidity. He was always ready to eat, and attacked
first one thing and then another, as though he had not had any breakfast at
Puddingpote Bower.
Sir Harry remained mute for some minutes, sitting cross-legged and
backwards in his chair, with his throbbing temples resting upon the back,
wondering where it was that he had met Mr. Sponge. He looked different
without his hat; and, though he saw it was no one he knew particularly, he
could not help thinking he had seen him before.
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