They 'ave got it up beautiful, I must say. Do
you _get_ anything for 'itting them?
_'Arry_. On'y the honour.
_A Father_ (_to intelligent Small Boy, in rear of Nervous Sportsman_).
No, I ain't seen him 'it anything _yet_, my son; but you _watch_.
That's a rabbit he's aiming at now.... Ah, _missed_ him!
_Small Boy_. 'Ow d'yer _know_ what the gentleman's a-aiming at, eh,
Father?
_Father_. 'Ow? Why, you notice which way he points his gun.
[The N.S. fires again--without results.
_Small Boy_. I sor that time, Father. He was a-aiming at one o' them
ducks, an' he missed a rabbit! [The N.S. gives it up in disgust.
_Enter a small party of 'Arries in high spirits._
_First 'Arry_. 'Ullo! _I_'m on to this. 'Ere, Guv'nor, 'and us a gun.
_I_'ll show yer 'ow to shoot!
[He takes up his position, in happy unconsciousness that playful
companions have decorated his coat-collar behind with a long piece
of white paper.
_Second 'Arry._ Go in, JIM! You got yer markin'-paper ready, anyhow.
[Delighted guffaws from the other 'Arries, in which JIM joins
vaguely.
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