Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Part 62

Mrs. Jogglebury availed herself of the lapse of time, and his absence, to pacify her young Turk, and try to coax him into reciting the marvellous 'Obin and Ichard.'

As Mr. Sponge came clanking downstairs with the cigar-case in his hand, she met him (accidentally, of course) at the bottom, with the boy in her arms, and exclaimed, 'O Mr. Sponge, here's Gustavus James wants to tell you a little story.'

Mr. Sponge stopped--inwardly hoping that it would not be a long one.

'Now, my darling,' said she, sticking the boy up straight to get him to begin.

'Now, then!' exclaimed Mr. Crowdey, in the true Jehu-like style, from the vehicle at the door, in which he had composed himself.

'Coming, Jog! coming!' replied Mrs. Crowdey, with a frown on her brow at the untimely interruption; then appealing again to the child, who was nestling in his mother's bosom, as if disinclined to show off, she said, 'Now, my darling, let the gentleman hear how nicely you'll say it.'

The child still slunk.

'That's a fine fellow, out with it!' said Mr. Sponge, taking up his hat to be off.

'Now, then!' exclaimed his host again.

'Coming!' replied Mr. Sponge.

As if to thwart him, the child then began, Mrs. Jogglebury holding up her forefinger as well in admiration as to keep silence:

'Obin and Ichard, two pretty men, Lay in bed till 'e clock struck ten; Up starts Obin, and looks at the sky--'

And then the brat stopped.

'Very beautiful!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge; 'very beautiful! One of Moore's, isn't it? Thank you, my little dear, thank you,' added he, chucking him under the chin, and putting on his hat to be off.

'O, but stop, Mr. Sponge!' exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, 'you haven't heard it all--there's more yet.'

Then turning to the child, she thus attempted to give him the cue.

'O, ho! bother--'

'Now, then! time's hup!' again shouted Jogglebury into the pa.s.sage.

'O dear, Mr. Jogglebury, will you hold your stoopid tongue!' exclaimed she, adding, 'you certainly are the most tiresome man under the sun.' She then turned to the child with:

'O ho! bother Ichard' again.

But the child was mute, and Mr. Sponge fearing, from some indistinct growling that proceeded from the carriage, that a storm was brewing, endeavoured to cut short the entertainment by exclaiming:

'Wonderful two-year-old! Pity he's not in the Darby. Dare say he'll tell me the rest when I come back.'

But this only added fuel to the fire of Mrs. Jogglebury's ardour, and made her more anxious that Sponge should not lose a word of it. Accordingly she gave the fat dumpling another jerk up on her arm, and repeated:

'O ho! bother Ichard, the--What's very high?' asked Mrs. Jogglebury coaxingly.

'Sun's very high,'

replied the child.

'Yes, my darling!' exclaimed the delighted mamma. Mrs. Jogglebury then proceeded with:

'Ou go before--'

CHILD.--'With bottle and bag,'

MAMMA.--'And I'll follow after--'

CHILD.--'With 'ittle Jack Nag.'

'Well now, that _is_ wonderful!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, hurrying on his dog-skin gloves, and wis.h.i.+ng both Obin and Ichard farther.

'Isn't it!' exclaimed Mrs. Jogglebury, in ecstasies; then addressing the child, she said, 'Now that _is_ a good boy--that _is_ a fine fellow. Now couldn't he say it all over by himself, doesn't he think?' Mrs. Jogglebury looking at Sponge, as if she was meditating the richest possible treat for him.

'Oh,' replied Mr. Sponge, quite tired of the detention, 'he'll tell me it when I return--he'll tell me it when I return,' at the same time giving the child another parting chuck under the chin. But the child was not to be put off in that way, and instead of crouching, and nestling, and hiding its face, it looked up quite boldly, and after a little hesitation went through 'Obin and Ichard,' to the delight of Mrs. Jogglebury, the mortification of Sponge, and the growling denunciations of old Jog, who still kept his place in the vehicle. Mr. Sponge could not but stay the poem out.

At last they got started, Jog driving. Sponge occupying the low seat, Jog's flail and Sponge's cane whip-stick stuck in the straps of the ap.r.o.n. 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. 'Oh, dear!' exclaimed he, 'you shouldn't have given me that nasty (puff) thing.'

'My dear fellow, I didn't know it would make you sick,' replied Mr. Sponge.

'Well, but (puff) if they (wheeze) other people sick, in all (puff) probability they'll (wheeze) me. There!' exclaimed he, pulling up again.

The delays occasioned by these catastrophes, together with the time lost by 'Obin and Ichard,' threw our sportsmen out considerably. When they reached Chalkerley Gate it wanted ten minutes to eleven, and they had still three miles to go.

'We shall be late,' observed Sponge inwardly denouncing 'Obin and Ichard.'

'Shouldn't wonder,' replied Jog, adding, with a puff into his frill, 'consequences of making me sick, you see.'