Jog
looked at him with mingled feelings of disgust and delight. Leather just
gave his old hat flipe a rap with his forefinger as he passed with the
horses--a salute that Jog did not condescend to return.
Having eyed the receding horses with great satisfaction, Jog re-entered the
house by the kitchens, to have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Sponge off. He
found the portmanteau and carpet-bag standing in the passage, and just at
the moment the sound of the phaeton wheels fell on his ear, as Bartholomew
drove round from the coach-house to the door. Mr. Sponge was already in
the parlour, making his adieus to Mrs. Jog and the children, who were all
assembled for the purpose.
'What, are you goin'?' (puff) asked Jog, with an air of surprise.
'Yes,' replied Mr. Sponge; adding, as he tendered his hand, 'the best
friends must part, you know.'
'Well (puff), but you'd better have your (wheeze) horse round,' observed
Jog, anxious to avoid any overture for a return.
'Thankee,' replied Mr. Sponge, making a parting bow; 'I'll get him at the
stable.
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