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Updated: May 10, 2025
'Why, now, if you were to try and get this rich Mr. Sponge for a god-papa for Gustavus James, continued she, drying her eyes as she came to the point, 'that, I should say, would be worthy of you. 'That's nothing, replied Mrs. Jogglebury; 'he's a stranger, and you should call upon him. Mr.
He kept his hand in his pocket till he came close up to the gate, when, suddenly drawing it out, he said: 'Oh, hang it! I've left my purse at home! Never mind, drive on, said he to his host; exclaiming to the man, 'it's Mr. Crowdey's carriage Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey's carriage! Mr. Crowdey, the chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Poor-Law Union!
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.
Just give me what you have yourselves just give me what you have yourselves. Where two can dine, three can dine, you know. Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey was nonplussed. 'Well, now, said Mr.
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.
Jogglebury sat silent, still staring at Lord Brougham, thinking how he pitched into him, and how sick he was when the jury, without retiring from the box, gave five hundred pounds damages against him. 'He's a fox-hunter, too, continued his wife; 'and you ought to be civil to him. 'Oh, nonsense, replied Mrs. Jogglebury; 'there's no saying when a fox-hunter may break his neck. My word! but Mrs.
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.
Jogglebury Crowdey did not hunt from any of these motives, and it would puzzle a conjurer to make out why he hunted; indeed, the members of the different hunts he patronized for he was one of the run-about, non-subscribing sort were long in finding out.
Jogglebury, the mortification of Sponge, and the growling denunciations of old Jog, who still kept his place in the vehicle. Mr. Sponge could not but stay the poem out. At last they got started, Jog driving. Sponge occupying the low seat, Jog's flail and Sponge's cane whip-stick stuck in the straps of the apron.
Crow Crow Crowdey! gasped Jogglebury, convulsively, as a tall woman, in flare-up red and yellow stunner tartan, with a swarm of little children, similarly attired, suddenly appeared at an angle of the road, the lady handling a great alpaca umbrella-looking parasol in the stand-and-deliver style. 'What's kept you? exclaimed she, as the vehicle got within ear-shot.
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