Despite the egg controversy, he thought a judicious application of soft sawder might accomplish what he wanted.

At all events, he would try.
Jog had brought himself short up, and was standing glowering with his hands in his coat-pockets, as if he had never seen the place before.
'Pretty look-out you have here, Mr.Jogglebury,' observed Mr.Sponge, joining him.
'Very,' replied Jog, still cogitating the egg question, and thinking he wouldn't have so many boiled the next day.
'All yours ?' asked Sponge, waving his hand as he spoke.
'My (puff) ter-ri-tory goes up to those (wheeze) firs in the grass-field on the hill,' replied Jogglebury, pompously.
'Indeed,' said Mr.Sponge, 'they are fine trees'; thinking what a finish they would make for a steeple-chase.
'My (puff) uncle, Crowdey, planted those (wheeze) trees,' observed Jog.

'I observe,' added he, 'that it is easier to cut down a (puff) tree than to make it (wheeze) again.' 'I believe you're right,' replied Mr.Sponge; 'that idea has struck me very often.' 'Has it ?' replied Jog, puffing voluminously into his frill.
They then advanced a few paces, and, leaning on the iron hurdles, commenced staring at the cows.
'Where are the stables ?' at last asked Sponge, seeing no inclination to move on the part of his host.
'Stables (wheeze)--stables (puff),' replied Jogglebury, recollecting Sponge's previous day's proposal--'stables (wheeze) are behind,' said he, 'at the back there (puff); nothin' to see at them (wheeze).' 'There'll be the horse you drove yesterday; won't you go to see how he is ?' asked Mr.Sponge.
'Oh, sure to be well (puff); never nothing the matter with him (wheeze),' replied Jogglebury.
'May as well see,' rejoined Mr.Sponge, turning up a narrow walk that seemed to lead to the back.
Jog followed doggedly.

He had a good deal of John Bull in him, and did not fancy being taken possession of in that sort of way; and thought, moreover, that Mr.Sponge had not behaved very well in the matter of the egg controversy.
The stables certainly were nothing to boast of.

They were in an old rubble-stone, red-tiled building, without even the delicacy of a ceiling.
Nevertheless, there was plenty of room even after Jogglebury had cut off one end for a cow-house.
'Why, you might hunt the country with all this stabling,' observed Mr.
Sponge, as he entered the low door.