eaking, deep-toned
voice, evidently from the vehicle.

'Yez-ur,' was the immediate answer.

'Who can that be?' exclaimed Sponge, pocketing his _Mogg_.

Then there was a creaking of springs and a jingling against iron steps, and
presently a high-blowing, heavy-stepping body was heard crossing the
entrance-hall, while an out-stripping footman announced Mr. Jogglebury
Crowdey, leaving the owner to follow his name at his leisure.

Mrs. Jogglebury had insisted on Jog putting on his new black frock--a very
long coat, fitting like a sack, with the well-filled pockets bagging
behind, like a poor man's dinner wallet. In lieu of the shrunk and darned
white moleskins, receding in apparent disgust from the dingy tops, he had
got his nether man enveloped in a pair of fine cinnamon-coloured tweeds,
with broad blue stripes down the sides, and shaped out over the clumsy
foot.

[Illustration: MR. JOGGLEBURY INTRODUCING HIMSELF TO MR. SPONGE]

Puff, wheeze, puff, he now came waddling and labouring along, hat in hand,
hurrying after the servant; puff, wheeze, puff, and he found himself in the
room. 'Your servant, sir,' said he, sticking himself out behind, and
addressing Mr. Sponge, making a ground sweep with his woolly hat.

'_Yours_,' said Mr. Sponge, with a similar bow.

'Fine day (puff--wheeze),' observed Mr. Jogglebury, blowing into his large
frill.

'It is,' replied Mr. Sponge, adding, 'won't you be seated?'

'How's Puffington?' gasped our visitor, sousing himself upon one of the
rosewood chairs in a way that threatened destruction to the slender fabric.

'Oh, he's pretty middling, _I_ should say,' replied Sponge, now making up
his mind that he was addressing the doctor.

'Pretty middlin' (puff),' repeated Jogglebury, blowing into his frill;
'pretty middlin' (wheeze); I s'pose that means he's got a (puff) gumboil.
My third (wheeze) girl, Margaret Henrietta has one.'

'Do you want to see him?' asked Sponge, after a pause, which seemed to
indicate that his friend's conversation had come to a period, or full stop.

'No,' replied Jogglebury unconcernedly. 'No; I'll leave a (puff) card for
him (wheeze),' added he, fumbling in his wallet behind for his card-case.
'My (puff) object is to pay my (wheeze) respects to you,' observed he,
drawing a great carved Indian case from his pocket, and pulling off the top
with a noise like the drawing of a cork.

'Much obliged for the compliment,' observed Mr. Sponge, as Jogglebury
fumb