'I told him I'd go to him before I left the country,' replied Mr. Sponge
carelessly; adding, 'Sir Harry is rather too fast a man for me.'
'Too fast for himself, I should think,' observed Mrs. Jog.
'Fine (puff--wheeze) young man,' growled Jog into the bottom of his cup.
'Have you known him long?' asked Mrs. Jogglebury.
'Oh, we fox-hunters all know each other,' replied Mr. Sponge evasively.
'Well, now that's what I tell Mr. Jogglebury,' exclaimed she. 'Mr. Jog's so
shy, that there's no getting him to do what he ought,' added the lady. 'No
one, to hear him, would think he's the great man he is.'
'Ought (puff)--ought (wheeze),' retorted Jog, puffing furiously into his
capacious shirt-frill. 'It's one (puff) thing to know (puff) people out
with the (wheeze) hounds, and another to go calling upon them at their
(gasp) houses.' 'Well, but, my dear, that's the way people make
acquaintance,' replied his wife. 'Isn't it, Mr. Sponge?' continued she,
appealing to our friend.
'Oh, certainly,' replied Mr. Sponge, 'certainly; all men are equal out
hunting.
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