'P-o-o-n-to!' repeated he, raising his hand.
Mr. Sponge stood on the tip-toe of expectation; Jog raised his wide-awake
hat from his eyes and advanced cautiously with the engine of destruction
cocked. Up started a great hare; bang! went the gun, with the hare none the
worse. Bang! went the other barrel, which the hare acknowledged by two or
three stotting bounds and an increase of pace.
'Well missed!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge.
Away went Ponto in pursuit.
'P-o-o-n-to!' shrieked Jog, stamping with rage.
'I could have wiped your nose,' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, covering the hare
with a hedge-stake placed to his shoulder like a gun.
'Could you?' growled Jog; ''spose you wipe your own,' added he, not
understanding the meaning of the term.
Meanwhile, old Ponto went rolling away most energetically, the farther he
went the farther he was left behind, till the hare having scuttled out of
sight, he wheeled about and came leisurely back, as if he was doing all
right.
Jog was very wroth, and vented his anger on the dog, which, he declared,
had caused him to miss, vowing, as he rammed away at the charge, that he
never missed such a shot before.
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