'No—not "Obin and Ichard,"' pouted the child.
'Oh yes, my sweet, do, that's a good child; the gentleman in the pretty coat, who gives baby the nice things, wants to hear it.'
'Come, out with it, young man!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, now putting a large piece of cold beef into his mouth.
'Not a 'ung man,' muttered the child, bursting out a-crying, and extending his little fat arms to his mamma.
'No, my angel, not a 'ung man yet,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury, taking him out of the chair, and hugging him to her bosom.
'He'll be a man before his mother for all that,' observed Mr. Sponge, nothing disconcerted by the noise.
Jog had now finished his breakfast, and having pocketed three buns and two pieces of toast, with a thick layer of cold ham between them, looked at his great warming-pan of a watch, and said to his guest, 'When you're (wheeze), I'm (puff).' So saying he got up, and gave his great legs one or two convulsive shakes, as if to see that they were on.
Mrs. Jogglebury looked reproachfully at him, as much as to say, 'How can you behave so?'
Mr. Sponge, as he eyed Jog's ill-made, queerly put on garments, wished that he had not desired Leather to go to the meet. It would have been better to have got the horses a little way off, and have shirked Jog, who did not look like a desirable introducer to a hunting field.
'I'll be with you directly,' replied Mr. Sponge, gulping down the remains of his tea; adding, 'I've just got to run upstairs and get a cigar.' So saying, he jumped up and disappeared.