“Mr Fanshawe, sir,” said Patsy, after a moment’s silence, “is there guns in thim boxes?”
“Which boxes?”
“Thim flat ones by the windy.”
“Yes; those are gun-cases.”
“Mr James said they were; but, sure, they must be mighty small guns to be put in little boxes like thim. Me father’s the gamekeeper, but wan of his guns is twiced the length of wan of thim boxes.”
“I daresay; but these are breech-loaders, and take to pieces. How does your father load his guns, Patsy?”
“He rams the stuff down the muzzle wid a ramrod. And by the same token, there’s a parcel of ca’tridges for you, sir, I brought over from Castle Knock a week ago. They’re in the kitchen, I b’leve.”
“Yes, I ordered them to be sent on here. Put these shirts in that drawer.”
“Mr Fanshawe, sir,” said Patsy, as he put the shirts in the drawer, “would yiz like to have a shot at a burglar?”
“I shouldn’t mind,” replied Mr Fanshawe. “Stick this coat on the chair over there. What has put burglars in your mind?”