“That’s so, and I did mine, too,” said Wriggs.
“You might ha’ knocked me down with a feather, sir,” continued Smith.
“Nay, nay, speak the truth, Tommy,” growled Wriggs, reprovingly. “No feather as ever growed wouldn’t knock you down.”
“Will you be quiet, Billy Wriggs? Who’s to tell the gentleman if you keep a-sticking your marlin-spike in where it aren’t wanted?”
“Come, come, I want to see my bird,” cried Oliver, who was amused by the sailor’s long-winded narrative. “If it takes so much time to shoot one bird, how long would it take to shoot a flock?”
“Ah! I dunno, sir,” said Smith, solemnly.
“But you got this one?”
“Ay, sir, I did.”
“We did, Tommy! speak the truth.”
“Well, we did, then. I shot him, sir, and Billy goes in among the bushes and picked him up.”