“All right, uncle; only don’t miss;” and the boy lowered his gun. “But who was Bottom the Weaver?”
“Tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated the doctor. “I say, this is a big one, Rodd—a monster.”
“Here, I recollect, uncle. He was the man who was going to play lion.”
“Good boy, Pickle; not so ignorant as I thought you were. Well, didn’t he say he’d roar him as gently as any sucking dove, so as not to frighten the ladies?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“Well, didn’t our knife-armed Spaniard roar to us as gently as—”
Bang.
“Got him!” cried the doctor.
“No, no; a miss,” cried Rodd.
Bang, again.