328 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
and should they fly extra high, he has no hesitancy in 
giving them a trial with BB’s. Talk to him about 5’s 
and 6’s for ducks! Why, bless you, were we to do that 
his flaxen hair would stand on end, and his plebeian 
face emit sparks of disgust. Don’t try to convert him: 
might as well try to convert an old toper to temper- 
ance, or preach morality to an acknowledged libertine. 
In either case, you will be casting pearls before swine. 
But some time, when you are loading your boat with 
ducks that you are knocking from all directions with 
6’s, T’s or 8’s, watch this same ignoramus. You may 
not see him personally, but note the ducks where you 
know he is. They come steadily along, 100 or 125 
yards high, instinct and experience having taught 
them they are beyond the scope of danger. Suddenly 
you see a flock tower quickly, then hear the boom of 
his gun. That’s all, no damage done. He is having a 
heap of fun. We know he won’t kill one during the 
day at that height. What is his excuse for not killing 
them? Poor powder, dirty gun, too small shot,—and 
excuses without end. But don’t, my dear friend, inti- 
mate that it is the fault of the gun, unless you are 
willing to be talked to death, and buried right there, 
beneath an avalanche of encomiums and reminiscences 
of what this same gun accomplished in the hands of his 
grandfather. Then when some stray shot tips a bird, and 
the bird sails away for hundreds of yards, he will yell 
like a maniac to his partner to “ Watch him! Watch 
him! Thithim, [hit him !” A few years ago I witnessed 
an entertainment of this kind, and I was the entire 
audience,—and I trust the sole survivor. During the 
day, two of them bagged one duck, while I killed over 
40 mallards. 
