Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 61

CHAPTER XLVII

A FAMILY BREAKFAST ON A HUNTING MORNING

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey was a good deal disconcerted at Gustavus James's irreverence to his intended G.o.d-papa, and did her best, both by promises and entreaties, to bring him to a more becoming state of mind. She promised him abundance of good things if he would astonish Mr. Sponge with some of his wonderful stories, and expatiated on Mr. Sponge's goodness in bringing him the nice comfits, though Mrs. Jogglebury could not but in her heart blame them for some little internal inconvenience the wonder had experienced during the night. However, she brought him to breakfast in pretty good form, where he was c.o.c.ked up in his high chair beside his mamma, the rest of the infantry occupying the position of the previous day, all under good-behaviour orders.

Unfortunately, Mr. Sponge, not having been able to get himself up to his satisfaction, was late in coming down; and when he did make his appearance, the unusual sight of a man in a red coat, a green tie, a blue vest, brown boots, &c., completely upset their propriety, and deranged the order of the young gentleman's performance. Mr. Sponge, too, conscious that he was late, was more eager for his breakfast than anxious to be astonished; so, what with repressing the demands of the youngster, watching that the others did not break loose, and getting Jog and Mr. Sponge what they wanted, Mrs.

Crowdey had her hands full. At last, having got them set a-going, she took a lump of sugar out of the basin, and showing it to the wonder, laid it beside her plate, whispering 'Now, my beauty!' into his ear, as she adjusted him in his chair. The child, who had been wound up like a musical snuff-box, then went off as follows:

'Bah, bah, back sheep, have 'ou any 'ool?

Ess, marry, have I, three bags full; Un for ye master, un for ye dame, Un for ye 'ittle boy 'ot 'uns about ye 'are.'

But unfortunately, Mr. Sponge was busy with his breakfast, and the prodigy wasted his sweetness on the desert air.

Mrs. Jogglebury, who had sat listening in ecstasies, saw the offended eye and pouting lip of the boy, and attempted to make up with exclamations of 'That _is_ a clever fellow! That _is_ a wonder!' at the same time showing him the sugar.

'A little more (puff) tea, my (wheeze) dear,' said Jogglebury, thrusting his great cup up the table.

'Hus.h.!.+ Jog, hus.h.!.+' exclaimed Mrs. Crowdey, holding up her forefinger, and looking significantly first at him, and then at the urchin.

'Now, "Obin and Ichard," my darling,' continued she, addressing herself coaxingly to Gustavus James.

'No, _not_ "Obin and Ichard,"' replied the child peevishly.

'Yes, my darling, _do_, that's a treasure.'

'Well, _my_ (puff) darling, give me some (wheeze) tea,' interposed Jogglebury, knocking with his knuckles on the table.

'Oh dear. Jog, you and your tea!--you're always wanting tea,' replied Mrs.

Jogglebury snappishly.

'Well, but, my (puff) dear, you forget that Mr. (wheeze) Sponge and I have to be at (puff) Sn.o.bston Green at a (wheeze) quarter to eleven, and it's good twelve (gasp) miles off.'

'Well, but it'll not take you long to get there,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury; 'will it, Mr. Sponge?' continued she, again appealing to our friend.

'Sure I don't know,' replied Sponge, eating away; 'Mr. Crowdey finds conveyance--I only find company.'

Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey then prepared to pour her husband out another cup of tea, and the musical snuff-box, being now left to itself, went off of its own accord with:

'Diddle, diddle, doubt, My candle's out.

My 'ittle dame's not at 'ome-- So saddle my hog, and bridle my And bring my 'ittle dame, 'ome.'

A poem that in the original programme was intended to come in after 'Obin and Ichard,' which was to be the _chef-d'oeuvre_.

Mrs. Jog was delighted, and found herself pouring the tea into the sugar-basin instead of into Jog's cup.

Mr. Sponge, too, applauded. 'Well, that _was_ very clever,' said he, filling his mouth with cold ham.

'"Saddle my dog, and bridle my hog"--I'll trouble you for another cup of tea,' addressing Mrs. Crowdey.

'No, not "saddle my dog," sil-l-e-y man!' drawled the child, making a pet lip: '"saddle my _hog_."'

'Oh! "saddle my hog," was it?' replied Mr. Sponge, with apparent surprise; 'I thought it was "saddle my dog." I'll trouble you for the sugar, Mrs.

Jogglebury'; adding, 'you have devilish good cream here; how many cows have you?'

'Cows (puff), cows (wheeze)?' replied Jogglebury; 'how many cows?' repeated he.

'Oh, _two_,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury tartly, vexed at the interruption.

'Pardon me (puff),' replied Jogglebury slowly and solemnly, with a full blow into his frill; 'pardon me, Mrs. (puff) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey, but there are _three_ (wheeze).'

'Not in milk. Jog--not in milk,' retorted Mrs. Crowdey.

'Three cows, Mrs. (puff) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey, notwithstanding,'

rejoined our host.

'Well; but when people talk of cream, and ask how many cows you have, they mean in milk, _Mister_ Jogglebury Crowdey.'

'Not necessarily. Mistress Jogglebury Crowdey,' replied the pertinacious Jog, with another heavy snort. '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 c.o.c.ked 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 s.h.i.+rked 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 gla.s.s, and it was some time before he found it.