“Bravo!” said the gun on his left, “that was a good shot,” and indeed its unexpected success put Rupert into excellent spirits and made him think that the thing was not so difficult after all.
Therefore, in the issue he did not find it difficult, for always remembering the instructions of his mentor to fire ten yards ahead, and never lifting his gun save at those cocks that came straight over him, letting all hens and wide birds go by, his success, with the help of the No. 4, was remarkable. Indeed, he brought down nearly as many birds with his one gun as most of the other sportsmen did with two, greatly to the delight of Edith, who from the beginning had fathomed Dick’s kind intentions.
But Dick was not delighted, for this petty success of his rival irritated him. Therefore, as the long drive went on, meanly enough he set himself to disconcert him in a very unsportsmanlike manner. Noticing that Rupert was firing at those cocks that passed right over his head, neglecting his own birds whereof there were a plenty, Dick devoted himself to Rupert’s, killing a number of them with long cross shots before Rupert could get off his gun.
Rupert said nothing, for there was nothing to say, though he could not help feeling a little annoyed, till at last he did speak—to Edith, asking why Dick did not confine himself to his own pheasants.
“Oh!” she answered, shrugging her shoulders, “because he’s jealous even about his wretched shooting.”
Then an accident happened, for one of the cocks, shot far forward by Dick in this unlawful fashion, in falling, struck Edith on the shoulder and knocked her straight backwards to the ground, where she lay quite still for a few moments, then sat up crying with the pain and gasping:
“Oh, it has hurt me so!”
Now Rupert’s wrath broke out, and he shouted to Dick, who pretended not to have seen what had happened:
“Stop shooting and come here.”
So Dick came.