“Well, I don’t know,” said Poole, with mock seriousness. “You wouldn’t like to come too with me?” Fitz looked at him blankly.
“It’s going to be quite an expedition. The lads are going to have rifles and plenty of ammunition; revolvers too. I am going to have the same, because there is no knowing what sort of fellows we may meet. But, as the dad says, if they see we are well-armed they won’t meddle with us. In these revolutionary times, though, every one is on the rampage and spoiling for a fight. Pity you can’t go with us.” Fitz was silent.
“You see, I could have arranged it nicely. We might have had old Andy to carry a couple of bags, and you could have had the governor’s double gun, and looked after the pot. We should have had you blazing away right and left as we went up the river at everything that the Camel said was good to eat. You would soon have filled both the bags, of course.”
“Look here,” said Fitz, “none of your sneers! I dare say if I tried I could shoot as well as you can.”
“Sneers!” cried Poole, with mock solemnity. “Hark at him! Why should I sneer about your filling the bags when you are not going? Of course you wouldn’t. You’d think it wouldn’t be right. I thought of all that, and said so to father.”
Fitz coughed, and then said huskily—
“What did he say?”
“What did he say? Well—”
“Why don’t you speak?” cried Fitz angrily.
“You might give a fellow time. What did father say?”