'Is he coming?' asked Amelia.
'Hem—cough—hem—my lord's—hem—not well—cough—no—hem—I mean to say—hem—cough—my lord's gone—hem—to dine—cough—hem—with his—cough—friend Lord Bubbley Jock—hem—cough—I mean Barker—cough.'
Jack and Lord Scamperdale were so in the habit of calling his lordship by this nickname, that Jack let it slip, or rather cough out, inadvertently.
In due time Spigot returned, with 'Master's compliments, and he was very sorry, but he was so unwell that he was quite unable to see any one.'
'Oh, dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Jawleyford.
'Poor pa!' lisped Amelia.
'What a pity!' observed Mr. Sponge.
'I must go and see him,' observed Mrs. Jawleyford, hurrying off.
'Hem—cough—hem—hope he's not much—hem—damaged?' observed Jack.
The old lady being thus got rid of, and Jawleyford disposed of—apparently for the night—Mr. Spraggon felt more comfortable, and presently yielded to Amelia's entreaties to come near the fire and thaw himself. Spigot brought candles, and Mr. Sponge sat moodily in his chair, alternately studying Mogg's Cab Fares—'Old Bailey, Newgate Street, to or from the Adelphi, the Terrace, 1s. 6d.; Admiralty, 2s.'; and so on; and hazarding promiscuous sidelong sort of observations, that might be taken up by Jack or not, as he liked. He seemed determined to pay Mr. Jack off for his out-of-door impudence. Amelia, on the other hand, seemed desirous of making up for her suitor's rudeness, and kept talking to Jack with an assiduity that perfectly astonished her sister, who had always heard her speak of him with the utmost abhorrence.