Explore "For the Allinson Honor" by Harold Bindloss on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The afternoon was drawing to a close when Andrew, Olcott, and a friend of the latter's, carrying guns and spread out in line, entered a stretch of rough, boggy pasture near the river. Clumps of reeds and rushes grew along the open drains, water gleamed among the grass, and the bare trees on the high bank across the stream stood out sharp and black against a glow of saffron light. The men were wet to the knees, and a white setter, splashed with mire, trotted in front of them. Murray, Olcott's friend, who was on Andrew's right, sprang across a broad drain and laughed when he alighted.
"Over my boots, but my feet can't get any wetter," he remarked. "I don't know that this is a judicious amusement after being invalided home from the tropics; but it looks a likely place for a mallard."