‘I should (puff) do no such thing,’ snorted her husband into his frill. ‘I should hope,’ continued he, speaking slowly and solemnly, ‘that a (puff) wise ministry will purchase the whole (puff) collection for a (wheeze) grateful nation, when the (wheeze)’ something ‘is no more (wheeze).’ The concluding words being lost in the emotion of the speaker (as the reporters say).

‘Well, but will you go and call on Mr Sponge, dear?’ asked Mrs Jogglebury Crowdey, anxious as well to turn the subject as to make good her original point.

‘Well, my dear, I’ve no objection,’ replied Joggle, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye with his coat- cuff.

‘That’s a good soul!’ exclaimed Mrs Jogglebury, soothingly. ‘Go tomorrow, like a nice, sensible man.’

‘Very well,’ replied her now complacent spouse.

‘And ask him to come here,’ continued she.

‘I can’t (puff) ask him to (puff) come, my dear (wheeze), until he (puff -- wheeze) returns my (puff) call.’

‘O fiddle,’ replied his wife, ‘you always say fox-hunters never stand upon ceremony; why should you stand upon any with him?’

Mr Jogglebury was posed, and sat silent.