'
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!' said Wardle, taking up a brace of birds
which the dogs had deposited at his feet. 'Why, here they are.'
'No, no; I mean the others,' said the bewildered Winkle.
'Far enough off, 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 by 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. Weller
contorted his features from behind the wheel-barrow, for the
exclusive amusement of the boy with the leggings, who thereupon
burst into a boisterous laugh, and was summarily cuffed by the
long gamekeeper, who wanted a pretext for turning round, to hide
his own merriment.
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