'Hi, Juno, lass-hi, old girl; down, Daph, down,' said Wardle,
caressing the dogs. 'Sir Geoffrey still in Scotland, of course, Martin?'
The tall gamekeeper replied in the affirmative, and looked with
some surprise from Mr. Winkle, who was holding his gun as if he
wished his coat pocket to save him the trouble of pulling the
trigger, to Mr. Tupman, who was holding his as if he was afraid
of it--as there is no earthly reason to doubt he really was.
'My friends are not much in the way of this sort of thing yet,
Martin,' said Wardle, noticing the look. 'Live and learn, you
know. They'll be good shots one of these days. I beg my friend
Winkle's pardon, though; he has had some practice.'
Mr. Winkle smiled feebly over his blue neckerchief in
acknowledgment of the compliment, and got himself so mysteriously
entangled with his gun, in his modest confusion, that if the piece
had been loaded, he must inevitably have shot himself dead upon
the spot.
'You mustn't handle your piece in that 'ere way, when you
come to have the charge in it, Sir,' said the tall gamekeeper
gruffly; 'or I'm damned if you won't make cold meat of some
on us.
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