All the children had clean pinafores on, and their hairs plastered according to nursery regulation.

Mr.Sponge's appearance was a signal for silence, and they all sat staring at him in mute astonishment.

Baby, Gustavus James, did more; for after reconnoitring him through a sort of lattice window formed of his fingers, he whined out, 'Who's that ogl-e-y man, ma ?' amidst the titter of the rest of the line.
'Hush! my dear,' exclaimed Mrs.Crowdey, hoping Mr.Sponge hadn't heard.
But Gustavus James was not to be put down, and he renewed the charge as his mamma began pouring out the tea.
'Send that ogl-e-y man away, ma!' whined he, in a louder tone, at which all the children burst out a-laughing.
'Baby (puff), Gustavus! (wheeze),' exclaimed Jog, knocking with the handle of his knife against the table, and frowning at the prodigy.
'Well, pa, he _is_ a ogl-e-y man,' replied the child, amid the ill-suppressed laughter of the rest.
'Ah, but what have _I_ got!' exclaimed Mr.Sponge, producing a gaudily done-up paper of comfits from his pocket, opening and distributing the unwholesome contents along the line, stopping the orator's mouth first with a great, red-daubed, almond comfit.
Breakfast was then proceeded with without further difficulty.

As it drew to a close, and Mr.Sponge began nibbling at the sweets instead of continuing his attack on the solids, Mrs.Jogglebury began eyeing and telegraphing her husband.
'Jog, my dear,' said she, looking significantly at him, and then at the egg-stand, which still contained three eggs.
'Well, my dear,' replied Jog, with a vacant stare, pretending not to understand.
'You'd better eat them,' said she, looking again at the eggs.
'I've (puff) breakfasted, my (wheeze) dear,' replied Jog pompously, wiping his mouth on his claret-coloured bandana.
'They'll be wasted if you don't,' replied Mrs.Jog.
'Well, but they'll be wasted if I eat them without (wheeze) wanting them,' rejoined he.
'Nonsense, Jog, you always say that,' retorted his wife.

'Nonsense (puff), nonsense (wheeze), I say they _will_.' 'I say they _won't_!' replied Mrs.Jog; 'now will they, Mr.Sponge ?' continued she, appealing to our friend.
'Why, no, not so much as if they went out,' replied our friend, thinking Mrs.Jog was the one to side with.
'Then you'd better (puff, wheeze, gasp) eat them between you,' replied Jog, getting up and strutting out of the room.
Presently he appeared in front of the house, crowned in a pea-green wide-awake, with a half-finished gibbey in his hand; and as Mr.Sponge did not want to offend him, and moreover wanted to get his horses billeted on him, he presently made an excuse for joining him.
Although his horses were standing 'free gratis,' as he called it, at Mr.
Puffington's, and though he would have thought nothing of making Mr.
Leather come over with one each hunting morning, still he felt that if the hounds were much on the other side of Puddingpote Bower, it would not be so convenient as having them there.