"You are satisfied?"
"Quite."
"Very well. Shall I begin?"
"If you please," said Mr. Winkle, glad of any respite.
"Stand aside, then. Now for it."
The boy shouted, and shook a branch with a nest on it. Half a dozen young rooks in violent conversation, flew out to ask what the matter was. The old gentleman fired by way of reply. Down fell one bird, and off flew the others.
"Take him up, Joe," said the old gentleman. There was a smile upon the youth's face as he advanced. Indistinct visions of rook-pie floated through his imagination. He laughed as he retired with the bird—it was a plump one.
"Now, Mr. Winkle," said the host, reloading his own gun.
"Fire away."
Mr. Winkle advanced, and levelled his gun. Mr. Pickwick and his friends cowered involuntarily to escape damage from the heavy fall of rooks, which they felt quite certain would be occasioned by the devastating barrel of their friend. There was a solemn pause—a shout—a flapping of wings—a faint click.
"Hallo!" said the old gentleman.
"Won't it go?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Missed fire," said Mr. Winkle, who was very pale: probably from disappointment.
"Odd," said the old gentleman, taking the gun. knew one of them m of the cap."
"Bless my soul," said Mr. Winkle. "I declare I forgot the cap!"
"Never miss fire before. Why, I don't see anything one of them miss fire before. The slight omission was rectified. Mr. Pickwick crouched again. Mr. Winkle stepped forward with an air of determination and resolution; and Mr. Tupman looked out from behind a tree. The boy shouted; four birds flew out. Mr. Winkle fired. There was a scream as of an individual—not a rook—in corporeal anguish. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of
