"I suppose Mr. Denbigh did not think himself properly called upon, or perhaps he had heard what a great shot you were."
Six months before his appearance in B----, Captain Jarvis had been a clerk in the counting-room of Jarvis, Baxter & Co., and had never held fire-arms of any kind in his hand, with the exception of an old blunderbuss, which had been a kind of sentinel over the iron chest for years. On mounting the cockade, he had taken up shooting as a martial exercise, inasmuch as the burning of gunpowder was an attendant of the recreation. He had never killed but one bird in his life, and that was an owl, of which he took the advantage of daylight and his stocking feet to knock off a tree in the deanery grounds, very early after his arrival. In his trials with John, he sometimes pulled trigger at the same moment with his companion; and as the bird generally fell, he thought he had an equal claim to the honor. He was fond of warring with crows and birds of the larger sort, and invariably went provided with small balls fitted to the bore of his fowling-piece for such accidental rencontres. He had another habit, which was not a little annoying to John, who had several times tried in vain to break him of it--that of shooting at marks. If birds were not plenty, he would throw up a chip, and sometimes his hat, by way of shooting on the wing.
As the day was excessively hot, and the game kept close, John felt willing to return from such unprofitable labor. The captain now commenced his chip firing, which in a few minutes was succeeded by his hat.
"See, Moseley, see; I have hit the band," cried the captain, delighted to find he had at last wounded his old antagonist. "I don't think you can beat that yourself."
"I am not sure I can," said John, slipping a handful of gravel in the muzzle of his piece slily, "but I can do, as you did--try."
"Do," cried the captain, pleased to get his companion down to his own level of amusements. "Are you ready?"
"Yes; throw."
Jarvis threw, and John fired: the hat fairly bounced.
"Have I hit it?" asked John, while reloading the barrel he had discharged.
"Hit it!" said the captain, looking ruefully at his hat. "It looks like a cullender; but, Moseley, your gun don't scatter well: a dozen shot have gone through in the same place."