OSCAR RECEIVES A LETTER.
The young taxidermist walked over to the table and picked up the
grouse. It was a perfect specimen of his work, and he held it off at
arm's length and admired it.
"I'll put this in Mr. Jackson's case," said he, as he arranged some
of the plumage with a pair of pliers. "Then I'll put in a pair of
quails, two English snipes, two wood-cock, that young heron over there,
and they will be as many as I can stand on the bottom of the case
without crowding them too much. Then in the tree I'll put an imperial
wood-pecker, and--hold on! I've got another gamebird that I can put in
the tree."
The boy was so well pleased with the thought that had just passed
through his mind that he laughed outright.
He put the grouse back upon the table, and took from one of the shelves
a beautiful bird which was mounted on a board, instead of a perch,
because it was web-footed. He looked at it closely, and found that it
was in as good order as when it first came out from under his hands.
"Yes, I'll put that in the tree, too," said he, with another laugh,
"and we'll see what Mr. Jackson will say when he finds it there."
Oscar passed along the shelves, taking down one specimen after another,
and when he had selected as many as he thought he could use he went
into the shop, dropped the curtain to its place, and, after lighting a
fire in the stove, took some well-seasoned boards from the corner where
he had placed them for safe keeping, and went to work upon the case.
During the next few days, Oscar toiled early and late. Under his
skilful hands, the case grew in size and shape, and when at last it was
put together, Oscar thrust his hands into his pockets and stood off to
make a critical examination of it.
The front was composed of double glass doors, hung on silver-plated
hinges; the joints were tight and, taken altogether, it was a piece of
work with which any cabinet-maker would have been entirely satisfied.
But it was not yet completed. The inside was to be ornamented with a
painting of a woodland scene, and the outside was to be stained in
imitation of black walnut.
Having satisfied himself that his work could not be improved in any
way, Oscar put on his coat, took a small hand-saw from the bench, and
turning the key upon the sleeping Bugle, who lay behind the stove,
dreaming of foxhunts past and to come, he bent his steps toward the
nearest piece of woods.
When he came back again, an hour later, he carried over his shoulder
a bundle of small branches which he had cut from hickory saplings. Of
these he intended to make the tree that was to be put up in the case
for the accommodation of some of the specimens.
He dropped into the post-office as he passed by, on his way home, not
because he expected to find anything there, but for the reason that it
had become a confirmed habit.
But there was a letter in his mother's box, and when the clerk handed
it to him, he found that it was addressed to himself. He opened it as
he walked along, and the first thing he took out of the envelope was a
business card, bearing these words:
CALKINS & SON,
No. 126 Court St., Yarmouth.
Poultry, Fish, Game, and Furs sold on Commission.
Liberal advancements made on consignments.
A share of the public patronage solicited.
"Humph!" said Oscar, as he thrust the card carelessly into his pocket.
"I don't see what they sent that to me for. I can shoot all the game
I want, and more, too. And as for fish--if I can't supply any three
families in town during the season, I'll give it up."
Oscar next took the letter out of the envelope, and began reading it in
the same careless, indifferent way in which he had read the card; but,
before he had gone far, he stopped, went back to the beginning, and
read it over again with more interest.
The letter ran as follows:
DEAR SIR: We intend, during the coming winter, to make a specialty
of small game of all kinds, and we wish to engage a competent
person in your neighborhood, where, as we understand, partridges,
quails, and rabbits are abundant, to shoot for our Yarmouth
market. We will take all you can send us, and you need have no
fear of overstocking us.
The accompanying price-current will show you how the market rules
at the present date, and by examining it carefully, you will be
able to make an estimate of your probable earnings, which ought to
be something handsome.
You have been recommended to us by a gentleman living in your
vicinity, and we hope you will find it to your interest to return
a favorable reply at an early day, and begin work for us at once.
We should like a shipment from you immediately. The partridges we
are now selling come principally from Michigan, and the demand far
exceeds the supply,
Yours, etc.,
CALKINS & SON.
"Well, I declare," thought Oscar, after he had read the letter over
twice, in order to fully master the business terms it contained,
"here's another windfall! They don't want me to buy of them, as I
thought they did, but they want a chance to buy of _me_. They shall
have it I wonder what gentleman it was who was good enough to recommend
me to them."
While Oscar was turning this question over in his mind, he glanced
at the price-current which had been inclosed in the letter, and,
after noting the prices paid for the various kinds of game that were
in demand in the Yarmouth market, he replaced it in the envelope,
and began a little problem in mental arithmetic, with a view of
ascertaining about how much his earnings would amount to each day, if
he consented to shoot for Calkins & Son.
He based his calculation upon the amount of game he had bagged during
some of his previous hunts, and in this way he obtained a tolerably
fair idea of what his profits would be.
While he was thus engaged, he ran into the outstretched arms of his
particular friend Sam Hynes, who had been home to dinner, and was
hurrying back to school.
"Hallo, here!" exclaimed Sam. "You're just the fellow I want to see.
What's that on your back?"
"Something of which to make a tree to put in a new case of birds I am
setting up," answered Oscar, after he had returned his crony's cordial
greeting.
"Say, Oscar," continued Sam, glancing up at the town clock to see
how many minutes he could spend in conversation and still reach the
school-house before the last bell rang, "what are you going to do next
Saturday?"
"I shall be quite at your service on that day," replied Oscar, who knew
very well what the question meant. "Are they coming in yet?"
"By hundreds!" exclaimed Sam, with great enthusiasm. "I have been
making inquiries of some farmers who live down the river, and they all
tell the same story. Hang that string out of your window, and I'll have
you up at half-past three. We must be on the water at the first peep of
day, you know. Good-by!"
This was all that passed between the two friends, but they understood
each other perfectly.
Almost every boy has his own way of enjoying himself, and Sam Hynes
found all his recreation in wild-fowl shooting. He went fishing
sometimes, because he liked to be on the river; but he could see no fun
in jerking a string up and down in the water all day, and he preferred
to lie back in the boat and watch the clouds as they floated over his
head.
He could see no sport, either, in tramping about the woods, carrying a
heavy gun on his shoulders; but when it came to shooting over decoys,
Sam was wide awake and perfectly at home.
He was the best fellow in the world to go hunting with, too. If a
sudden shower drenched him to the skin, and wet his powder so that his
gun could not be discharged, if the birds flew wild, and he returned at
night with no more game than he had when he started out in the morning,
it was all the same to Sam. No one ever heard a word of complaint from
him.
He knew how to roast a duck over the flames on a forked stick, and
could get up so tempting a dinner from the contents of his lunch-basket
that he was in great demand among the young Nimrods of the village, and
could have accepted invitations for every Saturday in the year, if he
had been so disposed. But he preferred to hunt with Oscar.
The latter owned some very fine decoys, which he had made and painted
himself, and he knew how to use them, too. More than that--he was a
very lucky young sportsman, and those who went with him seldom returned
empty-handed.
After taking leave of his friend, Oscar continued his walk toward
home, and before he got there he had finished his problem in mental
arithmetic, and arrived at the conclusion that he was in a fair way to
extricate himself from his financial difficulties, and that if the good
luck that had followed him ever since he was discharged from the store
would only continue for one short year, he would be all out of debt,
and have something in the bank to draw on in case of emergency.
When Oscar reached home he showed his mother the letter he had
received, and after spending a few minutes in conversation with her on
the subject of market-shooting and his chances for making money out of
it, he went into his work-shop and resumed his work.
On Friday afternoon the case was completed, and it was only necessary
to wait until the paint on the inside should become dry, so that he
could put up the tree he had made and place the birds upon it.
"It will be dry to-morrow night," thought Oscar, as he stood with his
brush in his hand, surveying the woodland scene which ornamented the
interior of the case, "and on Monday morning I will take it over and
see what Mr. Jackson has to say about it. Well, boys, I am glad to see
you."
Just then the door was thrown open and Sam Hynes came rushing in--he
was always in a hurry--followed by Miles Jackson, the nephew of the
gentleman for whom the case of birds was intended.
Sam had dropped in to make sure that the arrangements for the duck hunt
on the morrow were fully understood, and Miles had come with him to see
how Oscar was progressing.
They did not immediately reply to Oscar's words of greeting, for they
were too much interested in what they saw before them.
They looked at the case on all sides, admired the picture Oscar had
just finished, and then they turned their attention to the tree, which
they examined closely.
"You have got a good fit on these joints," said Sam, who was himself
very handy with tools. "If you stand a little way from it you would
take it for a natural tree. It is almost as good a job as I could
have done myself. What made you drill all these little holes in the
branches?"
"The wires which support the birds go through those holes and turn up
on the other side, so that they can't be seen," answered Oscar.
"Oh, yes; I understand. Now, when do you think---- What in the world
sent that miserable fellow prowling around here, I wonder?" said Sam,
in an undertone, looking at his friend Miles and scowling fiercely.
This exclamation was called forth by the opening of the door and the
entrance of a boy for whom Sam had of late conceived a violent dislike.
His name was Stuart, and he was one of the clerks in Smith & Anderson's
store.
The reason Sam disliked him was because he had heard from several
sources that Stuart had treated Oscar very rudely ever since Tom ran
away with his employers' money.
He would not speak to Oscar at all, or even look toward him if he could
help it; but he had a great deal to say in his presence concerning
thieves and defaulting book-keepers and cashiers.
"Stuart had better not talk that way in my hearing," declared Sam,
one day, when a lot of school-boys were talking about Oscar and his
troubles; and as he said it he doubled up a pair of fists that were
pretty large and heavy for a boy of sixteen. "Oscar is my friend, and
any fellow who says a word against him can just scratch my name off
his good books. Mark my words: If there was a dishonest clerk in that
store, he's there yet; and if money was missed from the drawer while
Oscar was employed there, it will be missed now that he is gone. Oscar
Preston never had a dishonest penny in his hands."
If Sam had owned the shop he would have ordered Stuart out of it on
the instant; but as he had no right to do that, he simply returned the
clerk's bow, scowled savagely at his friend Miles, and felt like giving
Oscar a punch in the ribs because he greeted Stuart so cordially.
The new-comer seemed surprised to find so many boys in the shop, and
for a minute or two he did not speak. He stood with his hand on the
latch, evidently undecided whether to go out or come in. Finally he
made up his mind that he would come in.
"I was out delivering goods," said he, as he closed the door behind
him, "and I thought I would run in for just a moment and see what a
taxidermist's shop looks like. I have a curiosity to see a bird before
it is put up ready for sale."
"All right," said Oscar, laying down his paint-brush. "I think I can
show you some fine specimens. Come in here."
As he spoke he drew aside the curtain and conducted his visitor into
the recess, while Sam showed what he thought of such a proceeding by
picking up a block of wood and hitting the work-bench a savage blow
with it.