I began to whistle as I rapidly made my preparations, and at last Smith could bear it no longer.
“What’s the idiot dressing himself up for?” he cried contemptuously.
That started Barkins, and he burst out with—
“What’s up, Gnat? Shore leave?”
“Eh! Didn’t you know?” I said coolly. “Shooting.”
“What!” they exclaimed in a breath, and Smith’s eyes were more wide open than I had ever seen them.
“Shooting,” I said coolly. “Brooke and I are going after ducks.”
“Gammon!” cried Barkins. “Why, you have no gun.”
“No,” I said. “Reardon is going to lend me his double breech-loader, central fire, number twelve.”
Barkins gave his leg a sharp slap.