Five o'clock
` Not to be borne -LRB- puff -RRB- , ' said Jog . It was now nearly five o'clock , Jog 's dinner hour , and still no Mr. Sponge . Mrs. Jog proposed waiting half an hour , indeed , she had told Susan , the cook , to keep the dinner back a little , to give Mr. Sponge a chance , who could not possibly change his tight hunting things for his evening tights in the short space of time that Jog could drop off his loose-flowing garments , wash his hands , and run the comb through his lank , candle-like hair . Five o'clock struck , and Jog was just applying his hand to the fat red-and-black worsted bell-pull , when Mrs. Jog announced what she had done . ` Put off the dinner -LRB- wheeze -RRB- ! put off the dinner -LRB- puff -RRB- ! ' repeated he , blowing furiously into his clean shirt-frill , which stuck up under his nose like a hand-saw ; ` put off the dinner -LRB- wheeze -RRB- !