little behind him when a bird rose, brought it down so neatly that
Sheridan, believing he had killed it himself, snatched it up, and rushed
bellowing with glee back to the house to show that he _could_ shoot. In
the same way, he tried his hand at fishing in a wretched little stream
behind the Deanery at Winchester, using, however, a net, as easier to
handle than a rod. Some boys, who had watched his want of success a long
time, at last bought a few pennyworth of pickled herrings, and throwing
them on the stream, allowed them to float down towards the eager
disciple of old Izaak. Sheridan saw them coming, rushed in regardless of
his clothes, cast his net and in great triumph secured them. When he had
landed his prize, however, there were the boys bursting with laughter,
and Piscator saw he was their dupe. 'Ah!' cried he, laughing in concert,
as he looked at his dripping clothes, 'this is a pretty _pickle_
indeed!'

His extravagance was well known to his friends, as well as to his
creditors. Lord Guildford met him one day. 'Well, Sherry, so you've
taken a new house, I hear.'--'Yes, and you'll see now that everything
will go on like clockwork.'--'Ay,' said my lord, with a knowing leer,
'_tick, tick_.' Even his son Tom used to laugh at him for it. 'Tom, if
you marry that girl, I'll cut you off with a shilling,'--'Then you must
borrow it,' replied the ingenuous youth.[8] Tom sometimes disconcerted
his father with his inherited wit--his only inheritance. He pressed
urgently for money on one, as on many an occasion. 'I have none,' was
the reply, as usual; 'there is a pair of pistols up stairs, a horse in
the enable, the night is dark, and Hounslow Heath at hand.'

[8: Another version is that Tom replied: 'You don't happen to have it
about you, sir, do you?']