“Oh yes, it looks very easy,” said Kenneth dryly. “You just hold the gun to your shoulder and point at a bird. Then you pull the trigger, and down comes Dicky.”
“Yes. I went to see men shoot pigeons after I had bought my gun. My father said I had better.”
“Oh, he said you had better, did he?”
Max nodded.
“And he thought that would do as well as shooting pigeons, for they come expensive.”
Kenneth laughed.
“Ah, well, we can give you something to shoot at here, without buying pigeons; but you’ll have to mind: my father wouldn’t like it if you were to shoot either me or Scood.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that!” cried Max. “It isn’t likely.”
“Glad of it,” said Kenneth dryly. “Well, then, don’t make a mistake and shoot one of the dogs. I’m sure they would not like it. Where’s your gun?”
“In the case in my bedroom. Shall I fetch it?”