190 POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF ■
" Not as you are carrying it/' said Mr. Pickwick. ^' I am very sorry to make any further objection, but I cannot consent to go on, unless you carry it, as Winkle does his."
" I think you had better, Sir," said the long gamekeeper, " or you're quite as likely to lodge the charge in your own vestcoat as in anybody else's.*'
Mr. Tupman, with the most obliging haste, placed his piece in the position required, and the party moved on again ; the two amateurs marching with reversed arms, like a couple of privates at a royal funeral.
The dogs suddenly came to a dead stop, and the party advancing stealthily a single pace, stopped too.
'* What's the matter with the dogs' legs ? " whispered Mr. Winkle. " How queer they're standing."
" Hush, can't you ? " replied Wardle, softly. " Don't you see, they're making a point ? "
" Making a point ! " said Mr. Winkle, staring about him^ as if he expected to discover some particular beauty in the landscape, which the sagacious animals were calling special attention to. " Making a point ! W^hat are they pointing at ? "
" Keep your eyes open," said Wardle, not heeding the question in the excitement of the moment. " Now then."
There was a sharp Whirring noise, that made Mr. Winkle start back as if he had been shot himself. Bang, bang, went a couple of guns ; — the smoke swept quickly away over the field, and curled into the air.
" Where are they ? " said Mr. Winkle, in a state of the highest excitement, turning round and round in all directions. " Where are they ? Tell me when to fire. Where are they — where are they ? "
" Where are they I " said Wardle, taking up a brace of birds which the dogs had deposited at his feet. " Where are they ! Why, here they are."
" No, no ; I mean the others," said the bewildered Winkle.
- ' Far enough oif, by this time," replied Wardle, coolly reloading
his gun.
" We shall very likely be up with another covey in five minutes," said the long gamekeeper. " If the gentleman begins to fire now, perhaps he'll just get the shot out of the barrel bv the time they rise."
" Ha ! ha ! ha ! " roared Mr. Weller.
" Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, compassionating his follower's confusion and embarrassment.
'^ Sir."
" Don't laugh."
•' Certainly not, Sir." So, by way of indemnification, Mr. Welle contorted his features from behind the wheelbarrow, for the exclusive amusement of the boy with the leggings, who thereupon burst into a boisterous laugh, and was summarily cuffed by the long game- keeper, who wanted a pretext for turning round, to hide his own merriment.
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