The sight of this took away all my feelings of compunction, and in imagination I began to see the brown sides of the well-roasted ducks, to smell their appetising odour, and to taste the juicy, tender bits about the bones.
“I heard you shoot um, Mass’ George,” cried Pomp, excitedly. “Got lubbly fire. How many?”
“Three,” I said.
“Oh!”
“What’s the matter?”
“On’y got flee. Dat two Mass’ George, and on’y one for Pomp, an’ I so dreffle hungly, I mose eat bit a ’gator.”
“There’ll be plenty,” I said. “I shall only eat one.”
“Eh? Mass’ George on’y eat one duck-bird?”
“That’s all.”
“Mass’ George sure?”