Mr Sponge, not being desirous of continuing the ‘calling’ controversy, especially as it might lead to enquires relative to his acquaintance with Sir Harry, finished the contents of his plate quickly, drank up his tea, and was presently alongside of his host, asking him whether he ‘was good for a ride, a walk, or what?’

‘A (puff) ride, a (wheeze) walk, or a (gasp) what?’ repeated Jog, thoughtfully. ‘No, I (puff) think I’ll stay at (puff) home,’ thinking that would be the safest plan.

‘ ’Ord, hang it, you’ll never lie at earth such a day as this!’ exclaimed Sponge, looking out on the bright, sunny landscape.

‘Got a great deal to do,’ retorted Jog, who, like all thoroughly idle men, was always dreadfully busy. He then dived into a bundle of rough sticks, and proceeded to select one to fashion into the head of Mr Hume. Sponge, being unable to make anything of him, was obliged to exhaust the day in the stable, and in sauntering about the country. It was clear Jog was determined to be rid of him, and he was sadly puzzled what to do. Dinner found his host in no better humour, and after a sort of Quakers’ meeting of an evening, they parted heartily sick of each other.