“No; the time has gone like lightning.”
“But don’t you want your dinner?”
“No,” said Stan promptly; “I don’t feel—Yes, I do,” he cried. “I didn’t till you mentioned it.”
“Shows that you have been interested, my lad. There! come along; let’s have a wash and brush up, and then we’ll see what the cook has for us. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with a makeshift meal again, as Wing is on the wing, as one may say, and I don’t expect him back till to-morrow night, for he has a good way to go, and the boat will sail slowly against stream. When he comes back with his report, I expect it will be necessary for me to go up and see some of the little native growers. We might take our guns and get a bit of sport among the snipes in the paddy-fields; what do you say?”
“I shall be delighted,” cried Stan eagerly.
“Like big-game shooting?” said the manager carelessly, but with a twinkle in his observant eye.
“I never had the chance to try,” replied Stan; “and I’m no hand at all with a gun. I had two days’ rabbit-shooting in England just before I came away; that’s all.”
“Hit any of the rabbits?”
“Five.”
“Out of how many shots?”