eskins, that had been degraded from hunting into
shooting ones, and whose cracks and darns showed the perils to which their
wearer had been exposed. Below these were drab, horn-buttoned gaiters, and
hob-nailed shoes.

'Going a-gunning, are you?' asked Mr. Sponge, after the morning salutation,
which Jog returned most gruffly.

'I'll go with you,' said Mr. Sponge, at once dispelling the delusion of his
wheezing away.

'Only going to frighten the (puff) rooks off the (gasp) wheat,' replied Jog
carelessly, not wishing to let Sponge see what a numb hand he was with a
gun.

'I thought you told me you were going to get me a hare,' observed Mrs. Jog;
adding, 'I'm sure shooting is a much more rational amusement than tearing
your clothes going after the hounds,' eyeing the much dilapidated moleskins
as she spoke.

Mrs. Jog found shooting more useful than hunting.

'Oh, if a (puff) hare comes in my (gasp) way, I'll turn her over,' replied
Jog carelessly, as if turning them over was quite a matter of course with
him; adding, 'but I'm not (wheezing) out for the express purpose of
shooting one.'

'Ah, well,' observed Sponge, 'I'll go with you, all the same.'

'But I've only got one gun,' gasped Jog, thinking it would be worse to have
Sponge laughing at his shooting than even leaving him at home.

'Then, we'll shoot turn and turn about,' replied the pertinacious guest.

Jog did his best to dissuade him, observing that the birds were (puff)
scarce and (wheeze) wild, and the (gasp) hares much troubled with poachers;
but Mr. Sponge wanted a walk, and moreover had a fancy for seeing Jog
handle his gun.

Having cut himself some extremely substantial sandwiches, and filled his
'monkey' full of sherry, our friend Jog slipped out the back way to loosen
old Ponto, who acted the triple part of pointer, house-dog, and horse to
Gustavus James. He was a great fat, black-and-white brute, with a head like
a hat-box, a tail like a clothes-peg, and a back as broad as a well-fed
sheep's. The old brute was so frantic at the sight of his master in his
green coat, and wide-awake to match, that he jumped and bounced, and
barked, and rattled his chain, and set up such yells, that his noise
sounded all over the house, and soon brought Mr. Sponge to the scene of
action, where stood our friend, loading his gun and looking as
consequential as possible.

'I shall only just take a (puff) stroll over moy (wheeze) ter-ri-to-ry,'
observed Jog, as Mr.