“Well, then, sell it to me. Burr here’s going to join me.”
The man gave me a quick glance, and shook his head. “I don’t sell guns,” he said.
“Then will you shoot that woodpecker for me?”
“Nay, I mustn’t shoot, they’d say I was a poacher. I’ll try and get it for you, though, only it’ll be a shilling.”
“Can’t afford more than ninepence, Magg.”
“Ninepence it is then; I don’t want to be hard on a young gentleman.”
“But if it’s all knocked to pieces and covered with blood, I shall only give you sixpence.”
“Oh, this’ll be all right, sir.”
“When shall you shoot it?”
“Ha’n’t I told you I aren’t going to shoot it?”