“Think ve could leap the ditch?” said Mr. Richard, regarding with a longing look the tall trees and the thick underwood.
“Lauk! I'll over it in a jiffy,” replied the elastic Mr. Spriggs there ain't no obelisk a sportsman can't overcome”—and no sooner had he uttered these encouraging words, than he made a spring, and came 'close-legged' upon the opposite bank; unfortunately, however, he lost his balance, and fell plump upon a huge stinging nettle, which would have been a treat to any donkey in the kingdom!
“Oh!—cuss the thing!” shrieked Mr. Spriggs, losing his equanimity with his equilibrium.
“Don't be in a passion, Spriggs,” said Grubb, laughing.
“Me in a passion?—I'm not in a passion—I'm on'y—on'y—nettled!” replied he, recovering his legs and his good humour. Mr. Grubb, taking warning by his friend's slip, cautiously looked out for a narrower part of the ditch, and executed the saltatory transit with all the agility of a poodle.
They soon penetrated the thicket, and a bird hopped so near them, that they could not avoid hitting it.—Grubb fired, and Sprigg's gun echoed the report.
“Ve've done him!” cried Spriggs.
“Ve!—me, if you please.”
“Vell—no matter,” replied his chum, “you shot a bird, and I shot too!—Vot's that?—my heye, I hear a voice a hollering like winkin; bolt!”
Away scampered Spriggs, and off ran Grubb, never stopping till he reached a high paling, which, hastily climbing, he found himself literally upon tenter-hooks.