GREEN FROGS AND A BOTTLE OF BEER 43 
One mallard actually alighted in the water but seeing 
the others continuing in flight instantly flew after them. 
It was a splendid exhibition of calling on Jimmy’s part. 
It is not perhaps much of a trick to call mallards to the 
decoys when they are flying low, looking for friends to 
feed with. But to call flight birds down from the sky, 
is the highest art of the caller’s skill. 
‘That was a queer break of yours,’’ Jimmy said after 
the ducks had passed. ‘‘What’s the use of calling ducks 
to the decoys if we don’t shoot at them? It’s just a 
waste of breath.”’ 
‘‘That’s perfectly true,’’ I told him, ‘‘and I don’t 
blame you for being disappointed after giving such a 
wonderful exhibition of the art of calling. But the 
mallards were so graceful and fearless as they made that 
wide sweep and came on so confidently to the decoys, 
that I preferred to remember and carry away with me 
the memory of the perfect picture of wild life they made, 
rather than shoot and spoil it all.”’ 
‘“‘Well,”’ replied Jimmy, “‘of course you can do as you 
like but that kind of shooting don’t make the game 
bag very heavy.’’ The three mallards proved to be 
our last opportunity for a shot. The midday flight 
stopped as suddenly as it began and with it the day’s 
shooting ended. 
‘It’s nearly four,’’ I said to Jimmy, ‘‘and time to pick 
up our ducks and start for the shack. It makes a long 
day getting up at three-thirty, four hours ahead of my 
ordinary daily schedule. After this I expect little 
trouble in controlling my enthusiasm for starting out in 
the morning before nine o’clock.”’ 
Jimmy laughed, then after putting his pair of oars 
in the rowlocks, he turned to me and said, ‘‘ Nine o’clock 
suits me down to the ground.” 
