DINNER FOR TWO
The regret, politely expressed though it was, had the effect of a
thunderbolt on both Allan and Pete, neither of whom had heard or seen
anything to suggest the presence of a third person on the scene.
Allan’s surprise was ludicrous enough, but the picture presented by
Pete--mouth and eyes wide open and the headless duck held stiffly at
arm’s length, his whole attitude suggesting that the icy water in which
he stood had suddenly frozen him stiff--caused even the newcomer to
smile a little under his mustache.
The latter was a rather stout gentleman, of middle age, with
ruddy cheeks, piercing dark eyes, and an expression of extreme
self-possession. He wore a suit of rough gray tweed and leather
leggings and carried a shot-gun. At his side, exhibiting two rows of
very white teeth, stood a red and white setter. Allan liked neither
the gun nor the dog, and envied Pete his chilly, but more distant,
position. The newcomer glanced silently from Allan to Pete. It was the
latter who found his voice first.
“Those your ducks?” he asked.
The man nodded. Pete looked again at the drake in his hand.
“Oh!” he said.
The dog growled and Allan observed that the man’s gun was cocked and
that it was held in a position that was far from reassuring. Pete
regarded the man with a puzzled expression.
“Look here, partner,” he asked, “are those _tame_ ducks?”
“They are, sir.”
Pete’s face cleared; a grin overspread his features, and he chuckled
aloud as he waded back to shore.
“You seem amused?” said the man, politely but with a note of
interrogation.
“Well, I’m mighty relieved, as the broncho said when he bucked the man
off. You see, I thought they were wild ducks, and when they wouldn’t
fly, I was afraid they were degenerating. Of course, as they were tame
ducks, it’s all right.” Pete waded out of the water and the setter laid
back his ears and growled suspiciously. “Hello, dog!” said Pete, as he
went toward where he had deposited his shoes, stockings, and rifle.
“Just stay where you are, please!” said the man. He waved toward Pete’s
possessions. The dog trotted over to them and stood guard, watching
their owner intently. Pete’s grin broadened. He tossed down the duck he
had rescued.
“There’s another out there,” he said. “Guess the dog could get it,
couldn’t he?”
“Where do you gentlemen belong?” asked the man. The gentlemen exchanged
glances. Then--
“Centerport,” answered Allan.
“Students?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Humph!” said the owner of the ducks. “Want me to believe you thought
my ducks were wild ones, do you?”
“You don’t suppose we’d walk six miles to shoot tame ones, do you?”
asked Pete, scathingly. The man shrugged his shoulders.
“I suppose you’re ready to pay for the pair you’ve shot?”
“Glad to,” answered Pete. “How much?”
“Well, I guess a dollar will do. They were both Pekins.”
“Can’t say I’ve had a dollar’s worth of sport,” said Pete, “but here’s
your money.” He put a hand into his trouser pocket. Then he stopped
short and looked with dismay at Allan. The owner of the ducks waited
silently.
“Guess you’ll have to trust us, partner,” said Pete. “We both came
away without any money.” Allan, fearing arrest would follow this
announcement, held his breath. But the man only smiled courteously.
“Very well,” he answered. “There is no hurry.”
“Thanks!” said Pete. He looked inquiringly toward the dog. “How about
my shoes and stockings? It’s a bit chilly.”
“I fancy your walk back will warm you up,” said the man. Pete whistled.
“Going to keep ’em for security, eh?” he asked. The other nodded
gravely.
“Couldn’t compromise, I suppose?” Pete insinuated. “That carbine’s
worth a good bit more’n a dollar. It’s hard walking without any shoes.”
“I dare say,” was the reply. “But maybe if you stub your toe a few
times, it’ll remind you to find out whether a duck is domestic or wild
before you shoot it.”
“Look here, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is,” said Allan, explosively,
“you’ll get your old dollar. We’re not thieves. But you’ve got to let
him have his shoes and stockings.”
“If I don’t?” asked the man, with a flicker of appreciation in his
eyes.
“Why--we’ll just take them, that’s all.”
“I wonder if you could do it?” said the other, measuring the two with
his eyes. “I almost believe you could.”
“Well, then--” began Allan.
“But of course you’d get damaged in the process,” continued the other,
cheerfully. “Now, look here; you’ve killed my ducks, and it’s only
right that you should pay for them. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes; but if we have no money----”
“That’s it,” was the answer. “It doesn’t seem probable that you two
students would come six miles from college without any money. Where are
you going to get your dinner?”
“There isn’t going to be any dinner,” said Pete. “You can believe us or
not, just as you like, and be hanged to you! If you’ll put down your
gun, I’ll lick you.”
“That’s an honest offer,” said the man, smiling outright for the first
time, “but it isn’t just practical. I rather think you could do it, and
I don’t see why I should be licked merely because you have killed my
ducks. Do you?”
“I guess that’s so, partner,” Pete answered. “But something’s got to be
done. I can’t walk home without any shoes.”
The man received this assertion in silence, glancing thoughtfully from
Pete to the articles in discussion. The dog looked suspiciously from
Pete to Allan. Allan scowled at the dog’s master. The latter spoke:
“Here, Jack!”
Jack went to him unwillingly. Pete picked up his shoes and stockings.
“Thanks!” he said. Then he put them on. The man watched him smilingly.
When the last lace was tied, Pete got up.
“My name’s Burley,” he said. “I’ll come over with your money to-morrow
or next day. Come on, Allan. Good day, sir.”
“You’re forgetting your rifle,” said the man. Pete looked puzzled.
Then--
“Do I get that, too?” he asked.
“Yes, you might as well take that along, I guess.” Pete went back and
got it. “Where you going now?” asked the man.
“Home,” said Pete.
“But how about dinner?”
“Well, maybe we’ll beg something to eat on the way. I guess there
ain’t any place around here where they’d take a Winchester carbine
as security for a Thanksgiving dinner, is there?” asked Pete, with a
smile. The stranger answered the smile.
“Hardly. But I tell you what you do. Strike straight up through the
woods here over the hill till you come to a lane. Keep along that for
a quarter of a mile until you come to a big brown house standing back
from the lane. You go there and tell ’em you’re hungry, and you’ll get
plenty to eat. Ask for Mr. Guild. Don’t forget, now; first house you
come to. There isn’t another for a mile further, so you’d better follow
my advice.”
“Thanks!” said Pete. Allan echoed him.
“All right,” said the man, smiling kindly. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning,” they answered. They started off through the woods in
the direction he had indicated, but after a few yards Allan turned and
looked back. The man, with the setter at heel, was moving along a path
at right angles to them. He glanced up and waved his hand.
“We’re sorry about the ducks,” called Allan.
“That’s so,” Pete shouted.
The man nodded good-naturedly. Then the trees hid him.
Allan and Pete walked on in silence for a ways. Then--
“Say, he wasn’t such a bad sort, was he?” asked Allan.
“No, he’s all right. I don’t believe he was going to do any more than
scare us, anyway. Guess he was just having some fun with us.”
“Wasn’t it funny about the ducks being tame ones?” asked Allan,
presently, as they left the woods, climbed over a stone wall, and
struck off up a lane.
“That’s a joke on me,” said Pete, laughing. “Ginger! How was I to know
that folks left their old ducks floating around loose all over the
country here? Out our way, when you see a duck in a lake or on the
river, it’s a wild duck, and you just naturally go ahead and shoot it.
That’s what bothered me--those fool ducks sitting there and letting
me throw rocks at ’em. Next time-- Say, I guess that’s our ranch over
there.”
Allan’s gaze followed the other’s.
A turn in the lane laid bare a broad expanse of lawn, interspersed with
ornamental trees and shrubbery, beyond which stood a long, rambling
house of brown-shingled walls and numerous red chimneys. Farther off
were stables and barns. From the chimneys the smoke arose straight into
the still air, suggesting warmth and good cheer. The boys paused and
looked longingly across the lawn.
“Shall we try it?” asked Allan.
“Sure!” Pete said. “I’m so hungry I could eat cedar bark.”
“But what will they think?” Allan demurred. “It isn’t as though it were
a farmhouse, you know.”
“_That’s_ all right; the sweller the folks the better the rations. Come
on; let’s cut across here.”
“We’ll just ask for some bread and a glass of milk,” suggested Allan.
“Bread and milk? Ginger! I’ve got to have pie and hot coffee!”
“But we’ll go to the back door, won’t we?”
“Like tramps? Not a bit of it. We’ll go to the front. What was the name
he told us?”
“Guild.”
“That’s right; Guild. Hello! look there; there’s another one of those
setter dogs. Looks just like the beast the fellow back there had,
doesn’t it?”
But this dog only observed them indifferently from a respectful
distance, and then trotted around the corner of the house as they
mounted the broad steps, crossed a wide veranda, and pushed the ivory
button beside the big oaken door. Allan strove to appear at ease, but
in reality looked as though he had come to steal the family silver. A
neatly-aproned maid opened the door.
“Is Mr. Guild in?” asked Pete, with unruffled composure.
“Yes, sir. Will you please walk in?” They followed her into a library,
in which a wood fire was crackling merrily in the chimney-place. Allan
felt like an impostor. Pete calmly selected the easiest chair and
lowered himself into it with a deep sigh of contentment.
“This is something like!” he said. “I’ll bet we’ll get two or three
kinds of pie, Allan.”
But Allan, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of a straight-backed
chair, only smiled distressedly and listened to the footsteps coming
nearer and nearer down the uncarpeted hall. The footsteps reached the
door; Pete and Allan got to their feet as the door swung open.
“Mr. Guild--” began Pete. Then he stopped short.
Before them was the owner of the ducks!