GREEN FROGS AND A BOTTLE OF BEER 39 
‘Don’t hold a grudge,’’ I said. ‘‘Blue Eyes had the 
best of it. He knew you were trying to fool him with 
your frog story and in return he fooled you completely 
without your ever knowing it. Blue Eyes might have 
looked pretty green, but I think he was clever.”’ 
“‘I suppose he was,’’ answered Jimmy, “‘but he cer- 
tainly made me tired, and speaking of being tired I was 
at a guides’ dance at the Big Club last night and got 
home at one o'clock this morning and then got up at 
three-forty-five to go out with you, and if you don’t 
mind I'll go over to the boat and try a nap.”’ 
I had to laugh again after Jimmy left. Few people 
like jokes at their own expense. Then I looked at my 
watch; it was only eleven o’clock, although it seemed 
much later. Getting up at half-past three makes a long 
day. After lunch I started my pipe. It was a solid 
two hours before another duck came to the decoys. At 
last the midday flight started. Just why there should 
be a midday flight is hard to say. One reason perhaps 
is that the marsh being close to the lake is practically 
without a dry sandy spot and the ducks on the lake may 
like to come ashore about noon and sun themselves and 
eat a little sand or gravel. But whatever the reason the 
noonday flight started as usual on time. Generally 
this flight comes from several directions; it was different 
to-day as nearly all the birds came from the south. 
When the flight started Jimmy was asleep and I was 
playing a lone hand in the blind. 
It’s always satisfactory to shoot alone. You are 
never hurried in the actual shooting. Of course, the 
lone shooter is responsible for all mishaps—for not 
seeing birds until they have passed, for lost birds and a 
score of other things; but all drawbacks are outweighed 
when the ducks come your way. The opportunity then 
