DPR WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
me eh 
men old enough to be his father. He is a recognized 
authority among his chums on such sports as dog-fights 
and pugilism, on base-ball, billiards and boating; but 
claims no great knowledge of the secrets of hunting 
wildfowl. At the time we write, he is clerking ina 
grocery store, receiving the magnificent salary of ten 
dollars a week. He is an adept in his business, as he is 
at everything he undertakes, and can accomplish with 
ease the difficult task of wrapping up a dollar’s worth 
of sugar, without spilling a grain, while at the same 
time, with one eye, he watches the boy trying to get his 
hand in the apple barrel, and with the other, slyly winks 
at the giggling school girls as they pass by the open door. 
The other isa young man perhaps of twenty, stalwart 
in appearance, light hair, and honest blue eyes, one you 
would implicitly trust. He is an apprentice, learning 
the cigar-makers trade; a German, who has been in this 
country but a year or two, and who speaks English im- 
perfectly, and who cannot resist the impulse to occasion- 
ally throw in German words to help himself out when 
embarrassed, or in doubt as to what he should say in 
English. They are fast friends, their stores adjoining. 
The duck season is at hand, numerous reports of the 
great quantity of ducks have often been told them. 
They resolve to go hunting. The American is called 
“ Jim.” This is a very simple abbreviation of his first 
name. The German, ‘“ Hans,” in Deutschland, they call 
him “ Johann.” The day is set; Jim is to furnish the 
dog, Hans the eatables, the balance of the outfit they 
are to rent. At the appointed hour, daylight, Hans 
waits the coming of his friend. Jim is a trifle late, 
caused he says by not being able to find his brother’s 
rubber boots, the brother having hidden them in antici- 
