Miss Manners being devoured with curiosity as to the wonderful Miss Holmes, of whom she had heard so much but never actually seen, accepted at once, before her lover could get out a word, whereon Scroope volunteered to bring me over in the morning and load for me. Being possessed by a terror that I should be handed over to the care of the unsympathetic Charles, I replied that I should be very grateful, and so the thing was settled. On our way home we passed through a country town, of which I forget the name, and the sight of a gunsmith’s shop there reminded me that I had no cartridges. So I stopped to order some, as, fortunately, Lord Ragnall had mentioned that the guns he was going to lend me were twelve-bores. The tradesman asked me how many cartridges I wanted, and when I replied “a hundred,” stared at me and said: “If, as I understood, sir, you are going to the big winter shoot at Ragnall to-morrow, you had better make it three hundred and fifty at least. I shall be there to watch, like lots of others, and I expect to see nearly two hundred fired by each gun at the last Lake stand.” “Very well,” I answered, fearing to show more ignorance by further discussion. “I will call for the cartridges on my way to-morrow morning. Please load them with three drachms of powder.” “Yes, sir, and an ounce and an eighth of No. 5 shot, sir? That’s what all the gentlemen use.” “No,” I answered, “No. 3; please be sure as to that. Good evening.” The gunsmith stared at me, and as I left the shop I heard him remark to his assistant: “That African gent must think he’s going out to shoot ostriches with buck shot. I expect he ain’t no good, whatever they may say about him.” CHAPTER II. ALLAN MAKES A BET On the following morning Scroope and I arrived at Castle Ragnall at or about a quarter to ten. On our way we stopped to pick up my three hundred and fifty cartridges. I had to pay something over three solid sovereigns for them, as in those days such things were dear, which showed me that I was not going to get my lesson in English pheasant shooting for nothing. The gunsmith, however, to whom Scroope gave a lift in his cart to the castle, impressed upon me that they were dirt cheap, since he and his assistant had sat up most of the night loading them with my special No. 3 shot. As I climbed out of the vehicle a splendid-looking and portly person, arrayed in a velvet coat and a scarlet waistcoat, approached with the air of an emperor, followed by an individual in whom I recognized Charles, carrying a gun under each arm. “That’s the head-keeper,” whispered Scroope; “mind you treat him respectfully.” Much alarmed, I took off my hat and waited. “Do I speak to Mr. Allan Quatermain?” said his majesty in a deep and rumbling voice, surveying me the while with a cold and disapproving eye. I intimated that he did.