Below these were drab, horn-buttoned gaiters, and
hob-nailed shoes.
'Going a-gunning, are you?' asked Mr. Sponge, after the morning salutation,
which Jog returned most gruffly.
'I'll go with you,' said Mr. Sponge, at once dispelling the delusion of his
wheezing away.
'Only going to frighten the (puff) rooks off the (gasp) wheat,' replied Jog
carelessly, not wishing to let Sponge see what a numb hand he was with a
gun.
'I thought you told me you were going to get me a hare,' observed Mrs. Jog;
adding, 'I'm sure shooting is a much more rational amusement than tearing
your clothes going after the hounds,' eyeing the much dilapidated moleskins
as she spoke.
Mrs. Jog found shooting more useful than hunting.
'Oh, if a (puff) hare comes in my (gasp) way, I'll turn her over,' replied
Jog carelessly, as if turning them over was quite a matter of course with
him; adding, 'but I'm not (wheezing) out for the express purpose of
shooting one.'
'Ah, well,' observed Sponge, 'I'll go with you, all the same.'
'But I've only got one gun,' gasped Jog, thinking it would be worse to have
Sponge laughing at his shooting than even leaving him at home.
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