_B-lf-r (stretching himself languidly)._ So am I! _Sm-th._ Oh, _you_ are _always_ tired, aren't you? Look so, anyhow. Haven't been exerting yourself much, so far as I have seen, up to now. _B-lf-r._ My dear fellow, you have yet to learn that hurry is not pace, and that fuss is not business. _S-l-sb-ry._ Well, boys, don't squabble, but lunch. We've _all_ done pretty badly, up to now, and unless we do better before sundown,----[_Sighs and sips._ _Sm-th (sorrowfully)._ Yes, that's very true. [_Sips and sighs._ _B-lf-r._ Well, I'm glad it's lunch-time anyhow, for I'm fairly baked. _Sm-th._ Nip of Irish, B.? _B-lf-r._ Irish be--_proclaimed_! Sick of the very name of Irish. _Do_ let's forget it for awhile, and hand me the J. J., there's a good fellow. _S-l-sb-ry (musing)._ Humph! Pretty pair of Sportsmen! Empty rotundity, and linked languor long drawn out. Wonder what DIZZY would have thought of such a pair of guns, especially of "his successor." _Tracy Tupman_ emulating _Mr. Winkle_. _Sm-th._ Eh? What? Beg pardon, S-L-SB-RY, I'm _not_ forty-winking. _S-l-sb-ry._ Not at all, not at all. I was--ahem!--saying what a _Winkle_--ah--M-TTH-WS is! _B-lf-r (disgustedly)._ Oh, M-TTH-WS! Missed every bird he's tried at. Pity all burglars are not as bad shots as he. Couldn't hit a constable at ten yards. _S-l-sb-ry (drily)._ Not if he _tried_. I never feel safe at twenty. If he hasn't peppered us all round, it isn't _his_ fault. _Sm-th._ And--ahem--G-SCH-N hasn't turned out _quite_ the success we expected, eh? That last miss of his was rather a bad one. _S-l-sb-ry._ Humph! perhaps. Still, I wish he'd brought one or two of his friends with him. _B-lf-r._ Well, perhaps they'll join us later on.