'You feel tired after your journey?' observed Mrs. Jawleyford.
'No, I'm not,' said Sponge, yawning again—a good yawn this time.
Miss Jawleyford looked significantly at her sister—a long pause ensued. 'I knew a family of your name,' at length observed Mrs. Jawleyford, in the simple sort of way women begin pumping men. 'I knew a family of your name,' repeated she, seeing Sponge was half asleep—'the Sponges of Toadey Hall. Pray are they any relation of yours?'
'Oh—ah—yes,' blurted Sponge: 'I suppose they are. The fact is—the—haw—Sponges—haw—are a rather large family—haw. Meet them almost everywhere.'
'You don't live in the same county, perhaps?' observed Mrs. Jawleyford.
'No, we don't,' replied he, with a yawn.
'Is yours a good hunting country?' asked Jawleyford, thinking to sound him in another way.
'No; a devilish bad 'un,' replied Sponge, adding with a grunt, 'or I wouldn't be here.'
'Who hunts it?' asked Mr. Jawleyford.
'Why, as to that—haw,'—replied Sponge, stretching out his arms and legs to their fullest extent, and yawning most vigorously—'why, as to that, I can hardly say which you would call my country, for I have to do with so many; but I should say, of all the countries I am—haw—connected with—haw—Tom Scratch's is the worst.'