Jog was very crusty at first, and did little but whip and flog the old horse, and puff and growl about being late, keeping people waiting, over-driving the horse, and so on.
'Have a cigar ?' at last asked Sponge, opening the well-filled case, and tendering that olive branch to his companion.
'Cigar (wheeze), cigar (puff) ?' replied Jog, eyeing the case; 'why, no, p'raps not, I think (wheeze), thank'e.' 'Do you never smoke ?' asked Sponge.
'(Puff--wheeze) Not often,' replied Jogglebury, looking about him with an air of indifference.

He did not like to say no, because Springwheat smoked, though Mrs.Springey highly disapproved of it.
'You'll find them very mild,' observed Sponge, taking one out for himself, and again tendering the case to his friend.
'Mild (wheeze), mild (puff), are they ?' said Jog, thinking he would try one.
Mr.Sponge then struck a light, and, getting his own cigar well under way, lit one for his friend, and presented it to him.

They then went puffing, and whipping, and smoking in silence.

Jog spoke first.

'I'm going to be (puff) sick,' observed he, slowly and solemnly.
'Hope not,' replied Mr.Sponge, with a hearty whiff, up into the air.
'I _am_ going to be (puff) sick,' observed Jog, after another pause.
'Be sick on your own side, then,' replied Sponge, with another hearty whiff.
'By the (puff) powers! I _am_ (puff) sick!' exclaimed Jogglebury, after another pause, and throwing away the cigar.