In simple fairness it should be said that Sam Parker meditated no
breach of parental authority. Indeed, as he was permitted to own a
little rifle, and to hunt for small game, it was possible that no
serious objection would have been raised to his quest for deer, though
there might have been scant faith in his success. But Sam, as it was
fated, was not to secure permission for his expedition.
Mrs. Parker was not in the dining-room. Sam saw that the room was
unoccupied, and went on to the library. It, too, failed to reward him
for his search. So did the living-room. He strode into the hall, and
took station by the foot of the stairs.
“Mother! Oh, Mother!” he called. “Say, Mother! Mother!”
There was no reply from above stairs or below.
“But I say, Mother!” His voice rose shrilly in his impatience. “Where
are you? Oh, Ma, Ma, Ma!”
A door at the back of the hall opened, but the head which appeared was
that of Maggie.
“Don’t make such a racket, Sam!” she cautioned. “What do you want,
anyway?”
“Where’s Mother? I’ve got to see her--right off!”
“Well, she ain’t here.”
“Why not?” demanded the boy hotly.
Maggie tossed her head. “Because she can’t very well be in two places
at once. And she’s run over to see Mis’ Lake for a minute.”
Sam stamped his foot. “Minute--nothing! I know what that means. She’ll
stay half an hour.”
“Well, why shouldn’t she, if she wants to?” said Maggie coolly. And
then, being busy, she closed the door and went back to her work.
Sam scowled; hesitated briefly; reached resolution; marched into the
library. His little rifle stood in its appointed place against the
wall, beside his father’s double-barreled gun. “The armory corner” of
the library was a family joke; for though Sam’s rifle was frequently
in use, the shotgun had not been taken out of the room in years. It was
a fine weapon, of a noted make, and highly prized by its owner, who,
however, had not hunted for many seasons; though regularly he planned
expeditions in the woods, and bought a fresh stock of ammunition.
Sam laid eager hold upon his rifle; then, of a sudden, seemed to be
seized by scorn of it. After all, it was never meant for big game. Why,
with its short cartridges and light charges of powder, it was hardly
more than a toy! Really, it was intended for target practice.
“Yet, for all that, it’s a rifle,” said the boy to himself. It was odd
how, once his prejudice was aroused, arguments presented themselves to
strengthen his objections. “And the law says you can’t hunt deer with
rifles.”
Here he was speaking by the book. The statute, which provided an open
season from December 1st to December 15th, also forbade the use of
rifles by sportsmen. Possibly a very lenient judge might have held that
Sam’s “pop-gun” hardly classed with the high-power, long-range weapons
against which the law was aimed, and might have deemed it annoying
rather than dangerous to two-footed or four-footed creatures; but Sam,
at the moment, was not disposed to be liberal in his interpretation. He
restored the piece to its place. He picked up the shotgun.
Temptation was strong upon him. Wasn’t it true that if he had not
been told that he could use the gun he also had not been expressly
forbidden to lay hands upon it? Nothing had been said about it either
way. And didn’t his father wish him to have some knowledge of firearms?
Of course he did! Oh, but it was a wonderfully persuasive voice,
which seemed to be whispering in his ear! It was so seductive that it
frightened him--a very, very little.
Sam hastily put down the gun. Yet he lingered in its neighborhood. Half
absently he opened a drawer in his father’s desk. There, in a corner,
was a paper box, labeled “3-1/4 drams, smokeless; shot 00.” Cartridges
for deer shooting! Surely here was Fate’s own finger pointing the way.
The boy drew a long breath. He lifted the cover of the box; took out
half a dozen of the cartridges; thrust them into a pocket. Then he
caught up the shotgun, and strode out of the library.
There was nobody to halt him or question him. Maggie was fully occupied
in the kitchen, and his mother had not returned. Leaving the house by
the front door, he avoided chance of observation by Lon Gates, who
still was at work in the barn. Not that Lon would have stopped him;
for the hired man would have supposed him to be sallying forth with
his mother’s permission. Nevertheless, Sam preferred to have his going
unnoted. He turned the corner of the house--the corner away from the
barn; stole back through the yard; climbed a fence, and found himself
in a narrow lane. It led to a side street, which, in turn, brought him
to a road running into the country.
His gun tucked under his arm, Sam walked briskly; and as the Parker
house happened to be on an edge of the town, it was but a very few
minutes before he had open fields on either hand. Ahead of him was
the low hill on which the Marlow farmhouse stood; and farther on were
loftier wooded summits. In summer the scenery of the region was
pleasantly picturesque, but on an overcast December day a stranger
might have found the prospect somewhat dreary. Sam, cheered by the
spirit of adventure, and the better for the exercise, began to shake
off his sulkiness; and he was whistling almost blithely when, at a
bend in the road, he saw two boys approaching. Physically, they were
in marked contrast. One was tall and thin, with a peculiarly angular
effect at elbows and knees; the other was short and plump, with a
round, good-humored face. Both hailed Sam eagerly.
“Hi there! Where are you going? What you doing with that artillery?”
sang out the tall lad.
“Don’t fire! I’ll surrender,” chuckled his companion.
Sam halted. He brought his gun to parade rest. An onlooker might have
suspected that he was not seeking secrecy regarding errand or armament
in the case of these two friends.
“Hullo, Step!” said he. “Same to you, Poke! And what am I doing? Oh,
just looking around on the chance of bagging something.”
The tall youth was carrying a package, wrapped in a newspaper. He laid
it on the ground, and took the gun from Sam’s hands, balancing the
weapon lovingly and finally raising it to his shoulder.
“Gee, but what a daisy!” he exclaimed. “Whose is it? Yours?”
“Oh, it isn’t exactly mine, Step, but I’m using it,” said Sam.
Any boy could have told how Clarence Jones came by his nickname. “Step”
was an abbreviation of “Step-ladder”; and undeniably Master Jones
did bear a resemblance to that valuable, if not graceful, article of
household equipment.
“Here, let me take the shooting-iron!” the plump youth urged. His name
was Arthur Green, but he was called “Poke,” because one so easily could
dig a finger into his fat sides. Having placed the basket he had been
carrying beside Step’s bundle, his hands were free to lay hold upon the
gun. There was a little tussle, and Poke captured the prize.
“My eyes! but this is a crackerjack!” was his comment. “Jiminy, but
you’re the lucky chap, Sam! What are you after?”
Sam did his best to appear blasé. “Oh, thought maybe I might get a shot
at a buck.”
The reception of the remark was not flattering. “You!” jeered Step;
Poke laughed.
“Why not?” Sam demanded, indignantly.
“That’s ri-right; why not?” Poke was quivering with amusement. “All
you’ve got to do is to hold the gun and pull the trigger; and if only a
deer happens to walk in the way, the gun’ll do the rest.”
Sam snatched the weapon from the jester. “Oh, cut the comedy!” he
snapped. “There’s nothing funny about it. I’ll bet you fifty men and
boys are out for deer to-day, and I’ve just as good a chance as any
of them can have of running into a herd. And if I want to take a
chance----Come, now! what’s ridiculous in that?”
Step was disposed to side with Sam. “There’s sense, Poke. Stop your
kidding. I want to ask Sam something.”
“Well, what is it?” queried Master Parker guardedly.
“It’s about St. Mark’s. Are you sure you’re going there?”
“Why--why----” Sam hesitated. “Why, I’m practically sure, I guess.
Father and I were talking it over last week; and I gathered that if I
passed the mid-year examinations here he’d let me transfer.”
Step was rubbing his chin. “Well, that’s what I wanted to know. I’ve
been campaigning to get my folks to send me, but they’re hanging off
till they learn what your father will do with you.”
Sam’s petulance had vanished. “Great Scott, Step, but it would be
cracking if we could go together!” he cried. “Say, Poke, get after your
family! We three have been pals ever since we can remember. It’d be
bully to take the gang to St. Mark’s.”
Poke shook his head. “Too bad, but there’s no hope for me. Little old
High School has got to be good enough for Yours Truly.”
“Oh, the school’s all right,” said Sam. “Only--as my father puts
it--it’s case of general versus special. We can fit for college here,
but the preparatory course is but one of several, while at St. Mark’s
it’s the whole thing. That ought to mean a better ‘fit.’ And you know
the fun the fellows have there, and the athletics, and all the rest of
it.”
Poke’s expression was uncommonly serious. “You’ve set your heart on
going, Sam, haven’t you?”
“It’ll be broken if I don’t go.”
Poke gave a funny little sigh. “Oh, well, they’ll need some of us to
stay home and run the errands, I reckon. And I guess I’m unanimously
elected. Here’s one, for instance.” And he picked up his basket.
“What have you got there?” Sam asked.
“Eggs! Two dozen--all Mrs. Trask could spare. And fifty-five cents a
dozen! Say, when I’m carrying this basket, I feel like a walking cash
register!”
Step had resumed possession of his package. “And here’s one of Mrs.
Trask’s roosters--five and a half pounds, dressed. I’m some plutocrat
myself.”
Sam shouldered his gun. “We’re all pretty richly loaded to-day,” said
he. “I suppose if I kill an eight-point buck you won’t care to have me
send a haunch to either of you?”
“Oh, well, I’ll take it--as a favor to you,” quoth Step.
“Same here!” chimed in Poke. Then he was seized by an idea. “Look here,
Sam! If you shoot anything--short of a heifer calf--bring it down to
the club this afternoon, and we’ll have a feed. Both of us are going to
be there.”
“But come, anyway,” urged Step. “If you don’t hit bird or beast, you’ll
have a story to tell of the big ones that got away.”
Sam nodded. “All right; I’ll be there,” he promised readily.