"I want U) slun)t" — amnliL-r louder snore and a whisper 

 — "a l)rant," and then he lias readied the land of dreams 

 banging away at the birds right and left, juniiiing out of 

 the sink box to retrieve them from the swift-llowing tide, 

 wearily carrying them back to the shanty, past ten one 

 hundred yard stakes — one thousand yards of deep wading 

 — and then awakening to the crushing truth "'tis but a 

 dream." lUit we are all getting our share of the shooting 

 and even our brant enthusiast will soon have enoueh to 

 quiet his excited mind and cool his heated imagination. 



A BIG DEER KILLED BV JAMES J. MARTINDALE, SON OF THE AUTHOR. 



The cooking at the club house on Monomoy Island 

 deserves a warm word of tribute. There are two chefs — 

 Sam Josephs and l-'rank Rogers — who re\el in producing 

 dishes peculiar to the Cape and Island that are at once 

 enticing, nourishing and appetizing. Some of their 

 productions defy my faint power to depict, but I will long 



97 



