They all
skimmed away unhurt.
'Well missed!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge again. 'You're what they call a good
shooter but a bad hitter.'
'You're what they call a (wheeze) fellow,' growled Jog.
He meant to say 'saucy,' but the word wouldn't rise. He then commenced
reloading his gun, and lecturing P-o-o-n-to, who still continued his
exertions, and inwardly anathematizing Mr. Sponge. He wished he had left
him at home. Then recollecting Mrs. Jog, he thought perhaps he was as well
where he was. Still his presence made him shoot worse than usual, and there
was no occasion for that.
'Let _me_ have a shot now,' said Mr. Sponge.
'Shot (puff)--shot (wheeze); well, take a shot if you choose,' replied he.
Just as Mr. Sponge got the gun, up rose the eleventh bird, and he knocked
it over.
[Illustration: MR. SPONGE GIVES PONTO A LESSON]
'_That's_ the way to do it!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, as the bird fell dead
before Ponto.
The excited dog, unused to such descents, snatched it up and ran off. Just
as he was getting out of shot, Mr.
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