The landlord lifted one hand, and wagged his head.
"You've hit on the one thing we haven't got. Anything but fishing."
"Shooting?" said George.
"Not at this time o' the year. You won't get shooting anywheres just now."
Fishing and shooting were all that George could think of, and he was not an adept at either.
"If you'll take my advice," said the landlord, looking his visitor over critically, "you'll just go easy at first. You've been overdoing it, I can see, and you're fair run down. You don't want no shootin' nor fishin', but plenty of good grub and a drop of good beer. I've seen young fellers the same way before. You take my tip and go easy."
As there appeared to be nothing else to do, George had to be content with this programme. He walked out for the rest of the morning, and for the greater part of the afternoon; the evening was spent in the bar-parlour, where the landlord's old cronies drank George's health and advised him to "take it easy."
Next morning the landlord handed over a telegram, which read—
"Have discharged all three—very indignant; take care of yourself; new men coming in to-day—Ellen."
"Now my little beauties," said George, smiling, "we'll see how you like that. Perhaps your friend Caroli can mesmerize some one into giving you a new job."