A MASTER OF THEORY. 
G. A. MACK, 
When first I met E. Mortimer Murta- 
goyd he was sitting in a grove of sugar 
maples, watching for grey squirrels. At 
least, he said he was watching for them 
and as he is big and aggressive looking, I 
took his word for it. His toggery was ir- 
reproachable. His corduroy jacket was 
neither too new nor too old. His leggings 
were briar scratched, yet not at all shabby. 
The forearm of his Savage showed a little 
wear, whether from his hand or a bit of 
emery cloth it was impossible to tell. Mur- 
tagoyd is a neighbor of mine and I had 
long been impressed by his exceedingly 
sportsmanlike air; therefore, with my 
most ingratiating smile, I inquired what 
success he had had. 
“T have just come out,” he replied. “Grey 
squirrels are most active from 4 to 
p.m. If we remain quiet they will soon 
make their appearance.” 
“Probably—” I said, glancing at the sur- 
rounding maples, “probably to get syrup 
for their morning wheat cakes.” 
My companion paid no attention to this 
puerility, and I tried again. Said I: 
“You have a Savage: I should have 
thought a .22 more suita——’ 
“Do you mean .22-3-30, .22-5-35, .22-5-40, 
.22-7-40, .22-7-45, .22-8-45 or .22-13-45?” 
“T had in mind the single shot,” I babbled. 
“Oh,” said he, “the .22-13-45; an excel- 
lent cartridge in its way. Its m. v. f. s. 
is 1481: trajectory at 100 yards, 2.71; at 
200 yards, 12.63; at 300, 33.67. It is capable 
of penetrating 5 %-inch dry pine boards at 
15 feet from muzzle; but the Savage min- 
iature, .303-5%4-100 is much better for 
small game, having more shocking power 
and a flatter trajectory. Its m. v. f. s. 
1-—— - 
“Tsn’t that a squirrel?” I interrupted, 
pointing vaguely at a distant nothing. 
Murtagoyd produced a field glass and 
looked in the direction indicated. Then 
he lowered the binocular and glanced sus- 
piciously at me. Seeing no trace of guile 
in my countenance, he gazed again through 
the glass. 
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “I see it now. It is 
a female, however, and I make it a rule to 
shoot only bucks.” 
Then, and until dusk, a flood of inside 
information rolled over me again; the 
while I thanked Heaven I had not met him 
earlier in the day. As we left the grove I 
suggested that had he been alone he would 
probably have been more successful in get- 
ting game. 
“Yes,” he assented; “I think your noisy 
125 
approach to the woods frightened the squir- 
rels. A sportsman should above all culti- 
vate noiseless celerity of movement. In 
walking through the forest tread softly on 
the ball of the foot, not permitting the heel 
to touch the ground; and be careful to 
avoid dry twigs.” 
He showed me how the thing should be 
done, As an exhibition of airy grace by 
a 180 pounder, it was well enough; as a 
demonstration of silent celerity, it rivalled 
the happiest efforts of a rheumatic cow. 
Subsequently I called, by invitation, on 
Murtagoyd. He was, it appeared, at work 
in his study, and would I step up? I did 
so, and found him writing at a library table 
littered with MSS. and with gun cata- 
logues and other works of reference. 
“I’m glad to see you,” he cried. “Sit 
down a minute, dear boy, until I finish 
this treatise.” 
The room was large and well furnished. 
On racks hung a small but choice collec- 
tion of firearms, chiefly rifles of late de- 
sign and high power. Every available inch 
of a large book case was filled with pam- 
phlets and volumes relating to ballistics, 
guns and hunting. More literature of the 
same sort was heaped in corners. Photos 
and lithographs of game hung on the walls, 
interspersed with cartridge manufacturers’ 
calendars. Presently Murtagoyd looked up. 
“This writing is tedious work,” he re- 
marked, “but the public has such erroneous 
ideas about sport, and so much trash is 
written.” 
“Ah,” I returned, “then you write for 
publication ?” 
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “Here is a 
little thing of 12,000 words on ‘Some ex- 
periments with the .30-40 soft point on the 
equine cadaver.’ It is for the Dublin 
Sportsman. In it I illustrate, by anatom- 
ical diagrams, the fatal shots; also the prob- 
able course of bullets entering at given 
points. It is quite exhaustive.” 
“T can well believe it,” I interjected. 
“Yes,” he continued, “for instance; one 
bullet entered at crest of frontal bone, fol- 
lowed the vertebral column, and the bulk 
lodged at root of tail. Fragments of the 
ball pierced every vital organ except the 
appendix vermiformis. Following out the 
dissection I traced bits of the jacket down 
both posterior limbs as far as the gam- 
brels.” 
“Such a demonstration is of undoubted 
value to science,” I remarked politely. 
“And here,” added my friend, “is a bro- 
chure of 20,000 ems for the London Field. 
