Little conversation passed between our friends for the first few miles, for, in addition to the road being rough, the driving-seat was so high, and the other so low, that Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey’s parables broke against Mr. Sponge’s hat-crown, instead of dropping into his ear; besides which, the unwilling host’s mind was a good deal occupied with wishing that there had been three haddocks instead of two, and speculating whether Mrs. Crowdey would be more pleased at the success of his mission, or put out of her way by Mr. Sponge’s unexpected coming.  Above all, he had marked some very promising-looking sticks—­two blackthorns and a holly—­to cut on his way home, and he was intent on not missing them.  So sudden was the jerk that announced his coming on the first one, as nearly to throw the old family horse on his knees, and almost to break Mr. Sponge’s nose against the brass edge of the cocked-up splash-board.  Ere Mr. Sponge recovered his equilibrium, the whip was in the case, the reins dangling about the old screw’s heels, and Mr. Crowdey scrambling up a steep bank to where a very thick boundary-hedge shut out the view of the adjacent country.  Presently, chop, chop, chop, was heard, from Mr. Crowdey’s pocket axe, with a tug—­wheeze—­puff from himself; next a crash of separation; and then the purple-faced Mr. Crowdey came bearing down the bank dragging a great blackthorn bush after him.

‘What have you got there?’ inquired Mr. Sponge, with surprise.

‘Got! (wheeze—­puff—­wheeze),’ replied Mr. Crowdey, pulling up short, and mopping his perspiring brow with a great claret-coloured bandana.  ’Got!  I’ve (puff—­wheeze) got what I (wheeze) think will (puff) into a most elaborate and (wheeze) valuable walking-stick.  This I (puff) think,’ continued he, eyeing the great ball with which he had got it up, ’will (wheeze) come in most valuably (puff) for my great (puff—­wheeze—­gasp) national undertaking—­the (puff) Kings and (wheeze) Queens of Great Britain (gasp).’

‘What are they?’ asked Mr. Sponge, astonished at his vehemence.

‘Oh! (puff—­wheeze—­gasp) haven’t you heard?’ exclaimed Mr. Jogglebury, taking off his great woolly hat, and giving his lank, dark hair, streaked with grey, a sweep round his low forehead with the bandana.  ’Oh! (puff—­gasp) haven’t you heard?’ repeated he, getting a little more breath.  ’I’m (wheeze) undertaking a series of (gasp) sticks, representing—­(gasp)—­immortalizing, I may say (puff), all the (wheeze) crowned heads of England (puff).’

‘Indeed!’ replied Mr. Sponge.

‘They’ll be a most valuable collection (wheeze—­puff),’ continued Mr. Jogglebury, still eyeing the knob.  ‘This,’ added he, ’shall be William the Fourth.’  He then commenced lopping and docking the sides, making Bartholomew Badger bury them in a sand-pit hard by, observing, in a confidential wheeze to Mr. Sponge, ’that he had once been county-courted for a similar trespass before.’  The top and lop being at length disposed of, Mr. Crowdey, grasping the club-end, struck the other forcibly against the ground, exclaiming, ’There!—­there’s a (puff) stick!  Who knows what that (puff—­wheeze) stick may be worth some day?’