is can be described only as classic. urally, eager to visit our farm, en years before, never once  foot on any sing ground but a target range.

    For a  last t, and  . I took ing, since I , of course, I pressed to o a good ess. At once, ness of  no one ing birds  ried.  up. t more flying up into trees.  none. By t time, emper. o my o do it.”

    trees. e tones at trees, but t budge. I could not s. e began  no second flock of birds self. I planned, if I o talk very loudly and dro. Suddenly ed, “Look! Now’s your chance!”

    aridge dodged among ts of t . A small puff of . I saering, “Damn t,” I fired at random into it.

    t subsided. tridge lay dead, s t, from be a y yards. I ejected tridge in an efficient sort of ance t boast.

    used to t it en years since  at a moving target, and so on. inued to excuse  supper. My fat. I imagined t  at last it came o me t it was because raged.

    A good sportsman, I remembered, never puts t ood ’s a man’s  day, my fat t to bring out ts in a man’s cer, and, ted, I o break off t, or attac, in t er t it is o s fauna of any kind—and  I laid down my gun. ?