MR. JOGGLEBURY CROWDEY ON HIS HOBBY
The axe stopped. 'Anybody comin'?' resounded from the wood.
'You come,' replied Mr. Sponge.
'Presently,' was the answer; and the chop, chop, chopping was resumed.
'The man's mad,' muttered Mr. Sponge, throwing himself back in the seat. At length Jog appeared brushing and tearing his way out of the wood, with two fine hollies under his arm. He was running down with perspiration, and looked anxiously up and down the road as he blundered through the fence to see if there was any one coming.
'I really think (puff) this will make a four-in-hander (wheeze),' exclaimed he, as he advanced towards the carriage, holding a holly so as to show its full length—'not that I (puff, wheeze, gasp) do much in that (puff, wheeze) line, but really it is such a (puff, wheeze) beauty that I couldn't (puff, wheeze, gasp) resist it.'
'Well, but I thought we were going to hunt,' observed Mr. Sponge dryly.
'Hunt (puff)! so we are (wheeze); but there are no hounds (gasp). My good (puff) man,' continued he, addressing a smock-frocked countryman, who now came up, 'have you seen anything of the (wheeze) hounds?'
'E-e-s,' replied the man. 'They be gone to Brookdale Plantin'.'
'Then we'd better (puff) after them,' said Jog, running the stick through the apron-straps, and bundling into the phaeton with the long one in his hand.