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'Well, that was very clever, said he, filling his mouth with cold ham. "Saddle my dog, and bridle my hog" I'll trouble you for another cup of tea, addressing Mrs. Crowdey. 'No, not "saddle my dog," sil-l-e-y man! drawled the child, making a pet lip: "saddle my hog." 'Oh! "saddle my hog," was it? replied Mr. Sponge, with apparent surprise; 'I thought it was "saddle my dog."
The unpropitious toilet; the aggravation of 'Obin and Ichard'; the delay caused by Jog being sick with his cigar; the divergence into Hackberry Dean; and the long protracted wait at the toll-bar. Reviewing all the circumstances fairly and dispassionately, Mr. Sponge came to the determination of having nothing more to do with Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey in the hunting way.
Crowdey what a loving, doting husband Springey was after hunting, Mrs. Crowdey had induced Crowdey to try his hand, and though soon satisfied that he hadn't the slightest taste for the sport, but being a great man for what he called gibbey-sticks, he hunted for the purpose of finding them.
Jogglebury Crowdey was a fine, bustling, managing woman, with a large family, for whom she exerted all her energies to procure desirable god-papas and mammas; and, no sooner did she hear of this newcomer, than she longed to appropriate him for god-papa to their youngest son. 'Jog, my dear, said she, to her spouse, as they sat at tea; 'it would be well to look after him.
'I hope so, replied Mrs. Jogglebury, in a tone of incredulity. 'I'd have taken it if I'd been you, observed Mrs. Jogglebury. 'Well, I'd have taken it, too, rejoined Mrs. Jogglebury. 'I should hope so, replied Mrs. Jogglebury. 'Well, but will you go and call on Mr. Sponge, dear? asked Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey, anxious as well to turn the subject as to make good her original point.
'Oh, fiddle, replied his wife, 'you always say fox-hunters never stand upon ceremony; why should you stand upon any with him? Mr. Jogglebury was posed, and sat silent. Well, then, as we said before, when one door shuts another opens; and just as Mr. Puffington's door was closing on poor Mr. Sponge, who should cast up but our newly introduced friend, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey. Mr.
'The charman's gone, replied the boy, who looked upon his master the chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Union as the impersonification of all earthly greatness. 'Dash your impittance, growled Jog, slinking back into the nursery; 'I'll pay you off! Gustavus James's internal qualms being at length appeased, Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey returned to bed, but not to sleep sleep there was none for him.
Mistress Jogglebury Crowdey, replied the pertinacious Jog, with another heavy snort. 'Ah, now you're coming your fine poor-law guardian knowledge, rejoined his wife. Jog was chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Union. While this was going on, young hopeful was sitting cocked up in his high chair, evidently mortified at the want of attention. Mrs.
But Jog was deaf chop, chop, chop was all the answer Mr. Sponge got. 'Well, hang me if ever I saw such a fellow! continued Sponge, thinking he would drive on if he only knew the way. 'Chop, chop, chop, continued the axe. 'Mister Jogglebury! Mister Jogglebury Crowdey a-hooi! roared Sponge, at the top of his voice. The axe stopped. 'Anybody comin'? resounded from the wood.
Roby's farm, at Runton you'll know Mr. Roby? 'Not I, replied Mr. Sponge, hoisting himself into the saddle, and holding out a hand to take leave of his host. 'Good night, sir; good night! exclaimed Mr. Peastraw, shaking it; 'and have the goodness to tell Mr. Crowdey from me that the next time he comes here a bush-rangin', I'll thank him to shut the gates after him.
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