'Ah, now you're coming your fine poor-law guardian knowledge,' rejoined his wife.

Jog was chairman of the Stir-it-stiff Union.
While this was going on, young hopeful was sitting cocked up in his high chair, evidently mortified at the want of attention.
Mrs.Crowdey saw how things were going, and turning from the cow question, endeavoured to re-engage him in his recitations.
'Now, my angel!' exclaimed she, again showing him the sugar; 'tell us about "Obin and Ichard."' 'No--not "Obin and Ichard,"' pouted the child.
'Oh yes, my sweet, _do_, that's a good child; the gentleman in the pretty coat, who gives baby the nice things, wants to hear it.' 'Come, out with it, young man!' exclaimed Mr.Sponge, now putting a large piece of cold beef into his mouth.
'Not a 'ung man,' muttered the child, bursting out a-crying, and extending his little fat arms to his mamma.
'No, my angel, not a 'ung man yet,' replied Mrs.Jogglebury, taking him out of the chair, and hugging him to her bosom.
'He'll be a man before his mother for all that,' observed Mr.Sponge, nothing disconcerted by the noise.
Jog had now finished his breakfast, and having pocketed three buns and two pieces of toast, with a thick layer of cold ham between them, looked at his great warming-pan of a watch, and said to his guest, 'When you're (wheeze), I'm (puff).' So saying he got up, and gave his great legs one or two convulsive shakes, as if to see that they were on.
Mrs.Jogglebury looked reproachfully at him, as much as to say, 'How _can_ you behave so ?' Mr.Sponge, as he eyed Jog's ill-made, queerly put on garments, wished that he had not desired Leather to go to the meet.

It would have been better to have got the horses a little way off, and have shirked Jog, who did not look like a desirable introducer to a hunting field.
'I'll be with you directly,' replied Mr.Sponge, gulping down the remains of his tea; adding, 'I've just got to run upstairs and get a cigar.' So saying, he jumped up and disappeared.
Murry Ann, not approving of Sponge's smoking in his bedroom, had hid the cigar-case under the toilet cover, at the back of the glass, and it was some time before he found it.
Mrs.Jogglebury availed herself of the lapse of time, and his absence, to pacify her young Turk, and try to coax him into reciting the marvellous 'Obin and Ichard.' As Mr.Sponge came clanking downstairs with the cigar-case in his hand, she met him (accidentally, of course) at the bottom, with the boy in her arms, and exclaimed, 'O Mr.Sponge, here's Gustavus James wants to tell you a little story.' Mr.Sponge stopped--inwardly hoping that it would not be a long one.
'Now, my darling,' said she, sticking the boy up straight to get him to begin.
'Now, then!' exclaimed Mr.Crowdey, in the true Jehu-like style, from the vehicle at the door, in which he had composed himself.
'Coming, Jog! coming!' replied Mrs.Crowdey, with a frown on her brow at the untimely interruption; then appealing again to the child, who was nestling in his mother's bosom, as if disinclined to show off, she said, 'Now, my darling, let the gentleman hear how nicely you'll say it.' The child still slunk.
'That's a fine fellow, out with it!' said Mr.Sponge, taking up his hat to be off.
'Now, then!' exclaimed his host again.
'Coming!' replied Mr.Sponge.
As if to thwart him, the child then began, Mrs.Jogglebury holding up her forefinger as well in admiration as to keep silence: 'Obin and Ichard, two pretty men, Lay in bed till 'e clock struck ten; Up starts Obin, and looks at the sky--' And then the brat stopped.
'Very beautiful!' exclaimed Mr.Sponge; 'very beautiful! One of Moore's, isn't it?
Thank you, my little dear, thank you,' added he, chucking him under the chin, and putting on his hat to be off.
'O, but stop, Mr.Sponge!' exclaimed Mrs.Jogglebury, 'you haven't heard it all--there's more yet.' Then turning to the child, she thus attempted to give him the cue.
'O, ho! bother--' 'Now, then! time's hup!' again shouted Jogglebury into the passage.
'O dear, Mr.Jogglebury, will you hold your stoopid tongue!' exclaimed she, adding, 'you certainly are the most tiresome man under the sun.' She then turned to the child with: 'O ho! bother Ichard' again.
But the child was mute, and Mr.Sponge fearing, from some indistinct growling that proceeded from the carriage, that a storm was brewing, endeavoured to cut short the entertainment by exclaiming: 'Wonderful two-year-old! Pity he's not in the Darby.

Dare say he'll tell me the rest when I come back.' But this only added fuel to the fire of Mrs.Jogglebury's ardour, and made her more anxious that Sponge should not lose a word of it.

Accordingly she gave the fat dumpling another jerk up on her arm, and repeated: 'O ho! bother Ichard, the--What's very high ?' asked Mrs.Jogglebury coaxingly.
'Sun's very high,' replied the child.
'Yes, my darling!' exclaimed the delighted mamma.