“No,” said the captain, laughing. “You cannot kill a dead thing.”
“But—but—” stammered the doctor.
“You see, doctor, your profession is curing, not killing,” cried the captain, laughing. “Never mind: better luck next time.”
“But it is so absurd. The idea of shooting at a dead beast!”
“I’m glad I didn’t, Mr Handscombe!” cried Steve merrily.
“Now, look here, don’t you begin to joke me, sir,” said the doctor, “because I will not have it.”
He spoke laughingly, but he was evidently greatly chagrined.
“So utterly ridiculous,” he said. “I say, Johannes, you ought not to have let me waste ammunition over a dead beast.”
“I’m very sorry, sir, but I did not know till you fired the first shot, the animal lay so naturally. Then I began to think it was our bear wounded. Of course, sir, I would not have let you fire if I had known.”
“Never mind,” said the captain, laughing. “But I say, Steve, my lad, your scruples saved you from a—from a—”