'
'So I say,' exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury; 'and yet I can't get Jog to call on
Sir George Stiff, though he meets him frequently out hunting.'
'Well, but then I can't (puff) upon him out hunting (wheeze), and then
we're not all equal (gasp) when we go home.'
So saying, our friend rose from his chair, and after giving each leg its
usual shake, and banging his pockets behind to feel that he had his keys
safe, he strutted consequentially up to the window to see how the day
looked.
Mr. Sponge, not being desirous of continuing the 'calling' controversy,
especially as it might lead to inquiries relative to his acquaintance with
Sir Harry, finished the contents of his plate quickly, drank up his tea,
and was presently alongside of his host, asking him whether he 'was good
for a ride, a walk, or what?'
'A (puff) ride, a (wheeze) walk, or a (gasp) what?' repeated Jog
thoughtfully. 'No, I (puff) think I'll stay at (puff) home,' thinking that
would be the safest plan.
''Ord, hang it, you'll never lie at earth such a day as this!' exclaimed
Sponge, looking out on the bright, sunny landscape.
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