The shot was so remarkable that everyone who saw it, including most of the beaters, who had passed us by now, uttered a cheer, and the red-waistcoated old Jenkins, who had stopped by us, remarked: "Well, bust me if that bain't a master one!" Scroope made me angry by slapping me so hard upon the back that it hurt, and nearly caused me to let off the other barrel of the gun.

Charles seemed to become one great grin, and Lord Ragnall, with a brief congratulatory "Never enjoyed a shoot so much in my life," called to the men who were posted behind us to pick up all the dead pheasants, being careful to keep mine apart from those of Sir Junius Fortescue.
"You should have a hundred and forty-three at this stand," he said, "allowing for every possible runner.

Charles and I make the same total." I remarked that I did not think there were many runners, as the No.

3 shot had served me very well, and getting into the boat was rowed to the other side, where I received more congratulations.

Then, as all further shooting was out of the question because of the weather, we walked back to the castle to tea.
As I emptied my cup Lord Ragnall, who had left the room, returned and asked us to come and see the game.