The thing made just enough noise to
attract anybody fairly near at hand without scandalising the inhabitants,
and as I chanced to be in good form I quite enjoyed myself.
I had just brought off a pretty sequence of snap shots and was thinking
regretfully that in one of the happy lands which still encouraged the
duel I should be a much more respected member of society, when I suddenly
realised that I had a spectator of my prowess. He was standing on the
turf above me, a little indistinct owing to the wall at his back, and for
an instant my heart leapt and I thought I had met the friend I was
seeking at last. And then I saw that it was only poor Jock.
I waved to him and he came scrambling down to the beach, his mouth wide
open as usual and wreathed in smiles. As he approached a wild thought
struck me. He was bearded, thickset, and of medium height. Wrap him in an
oilskin, and there you were! I mention all my inspirations to show that I
really did cover the ground pretty thoroughly in that blessed island. It
is true that the conduct of my oil-skinned acquaintance was scarcely that
of a congenital idiot; still, I was resolved to leave no stone unturned.
"Shoots, shoots!" he babbled in his curious thick voice. "Jock
heard shoots!"
I looked at him fixedly and in a serious voice replied in a German accent
you could have cut with a knife,
"I vant to know zomezing about sheeps, Herr Jock, not about shoots.
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