anger and indignation. Though the dog ran away as hard as he
could lick, Jog insisted that he was mortally wounded, and would die. 'He
never saw so (wheeze) a thing done. He wouldn't have taken twenty pounds
for the dog. No, he wouldn't have taken thirty. Forty wouldn't have bought
him. He was worth fifty of anybody's money,' and so he went on, fuming and
advancing his value as he spoke.

Mr. Sponge stole away to where the dog had dropped the bird; and Mr. Jog,
availing himself of his absence, retraced his steps down the hill, and
struck off home at a much faster pace than he came. Arrived there, he found
the dog in the kitchen, somewhat sore from the visitation of the shot, but
not sufficiently injured to prevent his enjoying a most liberal plate of
stick-jaw pudding supplied by a general contribution of the servants. Jog's
wrath was then turned in another direction, and he blew up for the waste
and extravagance of the act, hinting pretty freely that he knew who it was
that had set them against it. Altogether he was full of troubles,
vexations, and annoyances; and after spending another most disagreeable
evening with our friend Sponge, went to bed more determined than ever to
get rid of him.

CHAPTER LVI

NONSUCH HOUSE AGAIN

Poor Jog again varied his hints the next morning. After sundry prefatory
'Murry Anns!' and 'Bar-tho-lo-_mews_!' he at length got the latter to
answer, when, raising his voice so as to fill the whole house, he desired
him to go to the stable, and let Mr. Sponge's man know his master would be
(wheezing) away.

'You're wrong there, old buck,' growled Leather, as he heard the foregoing;
'he's half-way to Sir 'Arry's by this time.'

And sure enough, Mr. Sponge was, as none knew better than Leather, who had
got him his horse, the hack being indisposed--that is to say, having been
out all night with Mr. Leather on a drinking excursion, Leather having just
got home in time to receive the purple-coated, bare-footed runner of
Nonsuch House, who dropped in, _en passant_, to see if there was anything
to stow away in his roomy trouser-pockets, and leave word that Sir Harry
was going to hunt, and would meet before the house.

Leather, though somewhat muzzy, was sufficiently sober to be able to
deliver this message, and acquaint Mr. Sponge with the impossibility of his
'ridin' the 'ack.' Indeed, he truly said that he had 'been hup with him all
night, and at one time thought it was all hover with h