“Hallo!” said Mr. Pickwick in his turn, seeing that his companion was armed with a gun, and that another lay ready on the grass; “what’s going forward?”

“Why, your friend and I,” replied the host, “are going out rook-shooting before breakfast. He’s a very good shot, ain’t he?”

“I’ve heard him say he’s a capital one,” replied Mr. Pickwick, “but I never saw him aim at anything.”

“Well,” said the host, “I wish he’d come. Joe⁠—Joe!”

The fat boy, who under the exciting influence of the morning did not appear to be more than three parts and a fraction asleep, emerged from the house.