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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
the unconscious rooks
sufficiently indicated their whereabouts.
The old gentleman laid one gun on the ground, and loaded the other.
Here they are, said Mr. Pickwick; and, as he spoke, the
forms of Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle appeared
in the distance. The fat boy, not being quite certain which
gentleman he was directed to call, had with peculiar sagacity, and
to prevent the possibility of any mistake, called them all.
Come along, shouted the old gentleman, addressing Mr.
Winkle; a keen hand like you ought to have been up long ago,
even to such poor work as this.
Mr. Winkle responded with a forced smile, and took up the
spare gun with an expression of countenance which a metaphysical
rook, impressed with a foreboding of his approaching
death by violence, may be supposed to assume. It might have
been keenness, but it looked remarkably like misery.
The old gentleman nodded; and two ragged boys who had
been marshalled to the spot under the direction of the infant
Lambert, forthwith commenced climbing up two of the trees.
What are these lads for? inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly. He
was rather alarmed; for he was not quite certain but that the
distress of the agricultural interest, about which he had often
heard a great deal, might have compelled the small boys attached
to the soil to earn a precarious and hazardous subsistence by
making marks of themselves for inexperienced sportsmen.
Only to start the game, replied Mr. Wardle, laughing.
To what? inquired Mr. Pickwick.
Why, in plain English, to frighten the rooks.
Oh, is that all?
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 youths 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.
Hollo! said the old gentleman.
Wont 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. Never knew one
of them miss fire before. Why, I dont see anything of the cap.
Bless my soul! said Mr. Winkle, I declare I forgot the cap!
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 corporal
anguish. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of innumerable
unoffending birds by receiving a portion of the charge in his left arm.
To describe the confusion that ensued would be impossible.
To tell how Mr. Pickwick in the first transports of emotion called
Mr. Winkle Wretch! how Mr. Tupman lay prostrate on the
ground; and how Mr. Winkle knelt horror-stricken beside him;
how Mr. Tupman called distractedly upon some feminine
Christian name, and then opened first one eye, and then the
other, and then fell back and shut them both--all this would be
as difficult to describe in detail, as it would be to depict the
gradual recovering of the unfortunate individual, the binding up
of his arm with pocket-handkerchiefs, and the conveying him
back by slow degrees supported by the arms of his anxious friends.
They drew near the house. The ladies were at the garden gate,
waiting for their arrival and their breakfast. The spinster aunt
appeared; she smiled, and beckoned them to walk quicker. Twas
evident she knew not of the disaster. Poor thing! there are times
when ignorance is bliss indeed.
They approached nearer.
Why, what is the matter with the little old gentleman? said
Isabella Wardle. The spinster aunt heeded not the remark; she
thought it applied to Mr. Pickwick. The Pickwick Papers page 40 The Pickwick Papers page 42 |