'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 yourself as in
anything else.'
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! What are they pointing at?'
'Keep your eyes open,' said Wardle, not heeding the question
in the excitement of the moment. 'Now then.
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