“Last cartridges,” said Mrs Morley thoughtfully.
“Yes, my dear. It’s no use to hide anything from you. The poor fellows’ pouches are pretty well empty.”
“Oh, by the way,” said Archie quickly, “those three poor fellows who were just brought in—what about their pouches?”
“Oh, the bearers pretty well fought for them,” said the Doctor bitterly, “and divided the spoil. Two men got one apiece, the other a couple.”
“But, Henry dear,” said the Doctor’s wife, laying her hand upon his arm, “what about your double rifle at home?”
“Double gun, my dear, and one barrel rifled. I haven’t done much sporting with that lately. I was to have a tiger-shoot. But what do you mean? Do you want me to begin potting at the enemy?”
“No, dear; I was thinking about the cartridges.”
“Yes, Doctor,” cried Archie excitedly. “You must have a lot of cartridges.”
“I had four boxes, my lad—two of shot, large and small, and two of ball-cartridges for the tigers. But I haven’t the least idea where they are.”
“But I know, dear—on the store-room floor. I put them there to be dry.”