'Got a great deal to do,' retorted Jog, who, like all thoroughly idle men, was always dreadfully busy. He then dived into a bundle of rough sticks, and proceeded to select one to fashion into the head of Mr. Hume. Sponge, being unable to make anything of him, was obliged to exhaust the day in the stable, and in sauntering about the country. It was clear Jog was determined to be rid of him, and he was sadly puzzled what to do. Dinner found his host in no better humour, and after a sort of Quakers' meeting of an evening, they parted heartily sick of each other.
CHAPTER LV
THE TRIGGER
Jog slept badly again, and arose next morning full of projects for getting rid of his impudent, unceremonious, free-and-easy guest.
Having tried both an up and a downstairs shout, he now went out and planted himself immediately under Mr. Sponge's bedroom window, and, clearing his voice, commenced his usual vociferations.
'Bartholo—m—e—w!' whined he. 'Bartholo—m—e—w!' repeated he, somewhat louder. 'Bar—tholo—m—e—w!' roared he, in a voice of thunder.
Bartholomew did not answer.
'Murry Ann!' exclaimed Jog, after a pause. 'Murry Ann!' repeated he, still louder. 'Murray Ann!' roared he, at the top of his voice.