The Ivory Child | Page 7

this here snipe of a chap ain't the devil in boots!" exclaimed
Charles to himself.
But his master cut him short with a look, then lifted his hat to me and
said:
"Sir, the practice much surpasses the precept, which is unusual. I
congratulate you upon a skill that almost partakes of the marvellous,
unless, indeed, chance----" And he stopped.
"It is natural that you should think so," I replied; "but if more pigeons
come, and Mr. Charles will make sure that he loads the rifle, I hope to
undeceive you."
At this moment, however, a loud shout from Scroope, who was looking
for me, reinforced by a shrill cry uttered by Miss Manners, banished
every pigeon within half a mile, a fact of which I was not sorry, since
who knows whether I should have it all, or any, of the next three birds?
"I think my friends are calling me, so I will bid you good morning," I
said awkwardly.
"One moment, sir," he exclaimed. "Might I first ask you your name?
Mine is Ragnall--Lord Ragnall."
"And mine is Allan Quatermain," I said.
"Oh!" he answered, "that explains matters. Charles, this is Mr.
Scroope's friend, the gentleman that you said--exaggerated. I think you
had better apologize."

But Charles was gone, to pick up the pigeons, I suppose.
At this moment Scroope and the young lady appeared, having heard our
voices, and a general explanation ensued.
"Mr. Quatermain has been giving me a lesson in shooting pigeons on
the wing with a small-bore rifle," said Lord Ragnall, pointing to the
dead birds that still lay upon the ground.
"He is competent to do that," said Scroope.
"Painfully competent," replied his lordship. "If you don't believe me,
ask the under-keeper."
"It is the only thing I can do," I explained modestly. "Rifle-shooting is
my trade, and I have made a habit of practising at birds on the wing
with ball. I have no doubt that with a shot-gun your lordship would
leave me nowhere, for that is a game at which I have had little practice,
except when shooting for the pot in Africa."
"Yes," interrupted Scroope, "you wouldn't have any chance at that,
Allan, against one of the finest shots in England."
"I'm not so sure," said Lord Ragnall, laughing pleasantly. "I have an
idea that Mr. Quatermain is full of surprises. However, with his leave,
we'll see. If you have a day to spare, Mr. Quatermain, we are going to
shoot through the home coverts to-morrow, which haven't been touched
till now, and I hope you will join us."
"It is most kind of you, but that is impossible," I answered with
firmness. "I have no gun here."
"Oh, never mind that, Mr. Quatermain. I have a pair of breech-loaders"
--these were new things at that date--"which have been sent down to me
to try. I am going to return them, because they are much too short in the
stock for me. I think they would just suit you, and you are quite
welcome to the use of them."

Again I excused myself, guessing that the discomfited Charles would
put all sorts of stories about concerning me, and not wishing to look
foolish before a party of grand strangers, no doubt chosen for their skill
at this particular form of sport.
"Well, Allan," exclaimed Scroope, who always had a talent for saying
the wrong thing, "you are quite right not to go into a competition with
Lord Ragnall over high pheasants."
I flushed, for there was some truth in his blundering remark, whereon
Lord Ragnall said with ready tact:
"I asked Mr. Quatermain to shoot, not to a shooting match, Scroope,
and I hope he'll come."
This left me no option, and with a sinking heart I had to accept.
"Sorry I can't ask you too, Scroope," said his lordship, when details had
been arranged, "but we can only manage seven guns at this shoot. But
will you and Miss Manners come to dine and sleep to-morrow evening?
I should like to introduce your future wife to my future wife," he added,
colouring a little.
Miss Manners being devoured with curiosity as to the wonderful Miss
Holmes, of whom she had heard so much but never actually seen,
accepted at once, before her lover could get out a word, whereon
Scroope volunteered to bring me over in the morning and load for me.
Being possessed by a terror that I should be handed over to the care of
the unsympathetic Charles, I replied that I should be very grateful, and
so the thing was settled.
On our way home we passed through a country town, of which I forget
the name, and the sight of a gunsmith's shop there reminded me that I
had no cartridges. So I stopped to