On one occasion, after performing this feat, Mr. Tupman, on opening his eyes, beheld a plump partridge in the act of falling, wounded, to the ground. He was on the point of congratulating Mr. Wardle on his invariable success, when that gentleman advanced towards him, and grasped him warmly by the hand.
‘Tupman,’ said the old gentleman, ‘you singled out that particular bird?’
‘No,’ said Mr. Tupman—‘no.’
‘You did,’ said Wardle. ‘I saw you do it—I observed you pick him out—I noticed you, as you raised your piece to take aim; and I will say this, that the best shot in existence could not have done it more beautifully. You are an older hand at this than I thought you, Tupman; you have been out before.’
It was in vain for Mr. Tupman to protest, with a smile of self-denial, that he never had.
