"Why, you have no gun." "No," I said.

"Reardon is going to lend me his double breech-loader, central fire, number twelve." Barkins gave his leg a sharp slap.
"We're going up the river; plenty of sport up there among the marshes." "Going to walk ?" said Barkins.
"Oh no; we're to have a crew and one of the cutters." "Don't you believe him, Barkins, it's all gammon.

The little humbug can't deceive me." "All right, call it gammon," I said, stooping to tighten my boot-laces.
"Roast duck for dinner, Tanner, to-morrow." Barkins rushed on deck, leaving me with Smith, and the next minute he was back again.
"It's all right, Smithy," he cried; "and they're shoving in a basket of prog for the beggars." "What!" yelled Smith.

"Do you mean to say that Brooke and this--this-- thing are going off wasting Her Majesty's time shooting ?" "Yes; I saw Brooke, and he said it was so." "Then I shall resign.

Hang me if I'll stop in a service where such beastly favouritism is shown.