Two others were there who looked singularly out of place, and stood apart from the noisy crowd, both of them nervous and uncomfortable. They were Boodles and old Weevil. Close to them were crates stuffed full of pigeons, uttering from time to time little mournful notes, and bulging sacks filled with healthy rabbits.
"It is so silly," said Boodles, rather petulantly. "You will only be ill. We had much better go away."
"I must see it, darling—as much as I can bear. I am going to prepare a petition about these things, and I want to be fair. I must see for myself. It may not be so brutal as I believe it is."
"Yes, it is, and worse. I know I shall be ill," said Boodles.
"Go home, little girl. There is no reason why you should stay."
"I'm not going to leave you," declared Boodles bravely. "Only do let's go further away from those poor things in the sacks. They keep on heaving so."
"I must see it all," said the old man stubbornly. "Look the other way."
"I can't. It fascinates me," she said.
"Willum!" yelled the landlord. "Come along, my lad. Pigeons first. Dra' first blood, Willum."
A young man stepped out, smiling in a watery fashion, handling his gun nervously. The landlord plunged his hand into a crate, caught a pigeon by the neck, and dragged it out. The trap was merely a basket with a string fastened to it, and it was placed scarcely a dozen yards from the shooter.