"A little shooting?"

"What?"

"Sparrers?" suggested Raffles, off-hand.

"Rot!"

"Bunnies?"

"That's better, Raffles. If you can get me half an hour with Hill's
rabbits, I'd risk that. Of course, there'd be a row if it was known.
Acton won't inquire, I fancy, who's shooting?"

"Mr. Acton won't, Mr. Bourne; he's a gentleman."

"He's a monitor, though, Raffles, which is a different sort of animal."

Raffles of Rotherhithe did not appear to think that Acton's being a
monitor was a clinching argument barring young Bourne's sport. Perhaps he
had private reasons for his opinions. Anyhow, he glibly promised to have
a breech-loader and a ferret for young Bourne on the morrow.

"And old Hill? They're his rabbits, you know."

"That will be all right. Take Dan Raffles' word for it."

"Now look here, Raffles; I'll give you sixpence for every rabbit I shoot,
and I'll pay you for the cartridges. You'll keep all the rabbits, but you
will lend me the gun."