82 PODGERS' POINTER 



patingly. " You can do it if you like. Sure we 

 won't kill all the game. And I have the loveliest 

 dog that ever stood in front of a bird. I want to 

 get a chance of showing him off. He'll do you credit." 



I was anxious to oblige Podgers. He had stood 

 by me in a police-court case once upon a time, and 

 proved an oJihi such as must have met the approval 

 even of the immortal Mr Weller himself ; so I re- 

 solved upon soliciting the required permission, and 

 informed Podgers that I would acquaint him with 

 the result of my application. 



" That's a decent fellow. Come back to my house 

 with me now, and Pll give you a drop of John 

 Jameson that will make your hair curl." 



Declining to have my hair curled through the 

 instrumentality of Mr Jameson's ud rivalled whisky, 

 I wended my way towards the club, and, as luck 

 would have it, encountered O'Eooney lounging on 

 the steps enjoying a cigar. 



After the conventional greetings, I said, " By the 

 way, you have some capital partridge shooting at 

 Ballybawn." 



" Oh, pretty good," was the reply, in that self- 

 satistied, complacent tone in which a crack billiard- 

 player refers to the spot-stroke, or a rifleman to his 

 score when competing for the Queen's Prize. 



" I'm no shot myself — I never fired a gun in my 



