“Whole holiday. New boy. This is him. Burr junior, this is Bob Hopley, General’s keeper. Chuck your cap up in the air, and he’ll make it full of shot-holes. He never misses.”
“Oh yes, I do,” said the keeper, shaking his head; “and don’t you do as he says. Charge of powder and shot’s too good to be wasted.”
“Oh, all right. I say, got anything for me?”
“No, not yet. I did knock over a hawk, but I cut his head off.”
“What for? With your knife?”
“No-o-o! Shot. You shall have the next. Don’t want a howl, I s’pose?”
“Yes, yes, a white one. Do shoot one for me, there’s a good chap.”
“Well, p’raps I may. I know where there’s a nest.”
“Do you? Oh, where?” cried Mercer. “I want to see one, so does he—this chap here.”
“Well, it’s in the pigeon-cote up agen Dawson’s oast-house, only he won’t have ’em touched.”