Mr. Sponge stood eyeing him with a look of
incredulity, thinking that a man who could miss such a shot could miss
anything. They were now all ready for a fresh start, and Ponto, having
pocketed his objurgation, dashed forward again up the rising ground over
which the covey had dropped.
Jog's thick wind was a serious impediment to the expeditious mounting of
the hill, and the dog seemed aware of his infirmity, and to take pleasure
in aggravating him.
'P-o-o-n-to!' gasped Jog, as he slipped, and scrambled, and toiled, sorely
impeded by the encumbrance of his gun.
But P-o-o-n-to heeded him not. He knew his master couldn't catch him, and
if he did, that he durstn't flog him.
'P-o-o-n-to!' gasped Jog again, still louder, catching at a bush to prevent
his slipping back. 'T-o-o-h-o-o! P-o-o-n-to!' wheezed he; but the dog just
rolled his great stern, and bustled about more actively than ever.
'Hang ye! but I'd cut you in two if I had you!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge,
eyeing his independent proceedings.
'He's not a bad (puff) dog,' observed Jog, mopping the perspiration from
his brow.
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