“I wonder whether the ammunition’s dry,” said Jack; “I put it all in my hat.”
Jack took off his hat, and found the cartridges had not suffered.
“Now then, Gascoigne, what shall we do?”
“I hardly know,” replied Gascoigne.
“Suppose, then, we sit down and argue the point.”
“No, I thank you, there will be too much cold water thrown upon our arguments—I’m half dead; let us walk on.”
“With all my heart,” said Jack, “it’s devilish steep, but I can argue up hill or down hill, wet or dry—I’m used to it—for, as I told you before, Ned, my father is a philosopher, and so am I.”
“By the Lord! you are,” replied Gascoigne, as he walked on.