GEORGE RAYNOR. 167 



"All right," said he; "anything to keep peace in the 

 family, but down here ducks are too plenty to go chasing 

 cripples. The gunners here will think you are crazy to 

 waste your time in that way and scare off a flock to get a 

 cripple. Go ahead, though; I don't care." 



I tried it, but it did keep flocks from coming our way. 

 Some gunners one hundred yards below protested, and 

 the chasing of cripples was stopped. 



We shot six days. The first day more than paid all 

 expenses of the trip, and there was a good balance in our 

 favor as well as thirty ducks among our plunder on our 

 return Saturday night. The ducks we gave to friends, 

 and when Pete Loeser received a pair and heard the story 

 he said: "Py shimminy, de air must pe so full mit ducks 

 dere vos no room for shot to co between dem ven dey 

 fly. I never dinks dere vos so many." 



I had an invitation to dine with Mr. Raynor and his 

 son next day, and the old gentleman was very jolly and 

 sang the hunter's song and that sweetest of old English 

 ballads, "Sally in Our Alley," while the son, who, like all 

 professional singers, usually declined ,to sing on social 

 occasions, at the earnest request of the ladies gave us 

 "Mary of Argyle" and several other songs. When the 

 others had retired Mr. Raynor beat me at two games of 

 chess, the clock struck midnight and the vacation week 

 ended. 



The winter closed in and before spring I could now 

 and then checkmate my elderly friend, and when that 

 happened he would explain how it could not have been 

 done if he had not made a certain move some ten moves 

 back of the finish. He was a delightful old man when 

 his mind was off his physical troubles, and he and his 

 son were devoted to each other. As soon as the ice was 

 out of the river he sent me word to come up and fish 



