_Jim_. I'll lay I can!

[Fires. The procession of rabbits goes on undisturbed.

_Second 'Arry_ (_jocosely_). Never mind. You _peppered_ 'im. I sor
the feathers floy!

_Third 'Arry._ You'd ha' copped 'im if yer'd bin a bit quicker.

_Jim_ (_annoyed_). They keep on movin' so, they don't give a bloke
no chornce!

_Second 'Arry._ 'Ave a go at that old owl.

[Alluding to a tin representation of that fowl which remains
stationary among the painted rushes.

_Third 'Arry._ No--see if you can't git that stuffed bear. He's on'y
a yard or two away!

_An Impatient 'Arry_ (_at doorway_). 'Ere, come _on_! Ain't you shot
enough? Shake a leg, can't yer, JIM?

_Second 'Arry._ He's got to kill one o' them rabbits fust. Or pot a
tin lion, JIM? _You_ ain't afraid!

_Jim_. No; I'm goin' to git that owl. He's _quiet_ any way.

[Fires. The owl falls prostrate.