My fellow-shooters, however, could not refrain from shouting with irrepressible admiration at the intrepidity with which, forestalling the fleetest dogs, I did rush forward to pick up the fallen grouse-birds, and repeatedly exhorted me to take greater care for my own safety.
I cannot say that they exhibited equivalent courageousness, seeing that, so often as I raised my gun to fire, they flung themselves upon their stomachs in the heather until I had finished, upon which I rallied them mercilessly upon their timidity, assuring them repeatedly that they had nothing to fear.
Yet English and Scotch alike accuse us Bengalees of being subject to excessive funkiness. What about the Pot and the Kettle, Misters?
I am to reserve the conclusion of my shooting experiences until a future occasion.
XXV
Mr Jabberjee concludes the thrilling account of his experiences on a Scotch moor, greatly to his own glorification.
Now to resume the rather arbitrarily truncated account of my gunnery on Scottish moors.
Before luncheon I ventured to remonstrate earnestly with my entertainer, Mr Bagshot, Q.C., concerning the extreme severity with which he chastised a juvenile sporting hound of his for such trivial offences as running after some rabbit, or picking up slaughtered volatiles without receiving the mot d'ordre!