Dec. 7, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
719 
Choosing a Christmas Gift for Outdoor Boy and his Father 
By UNCLE WILLIAM 
W HEN I was a small boy I remember there 
was some friction' between my father 
and mother over the gun question. 
Should I be allowed to have a gun of any kind? 
Would I do any harm' to myself with an air 
rifle, or as mother argued, should I have a “little 
real gun?” The compromise finally petitioned 
Santa for an air rifle, with cute little darts deco¬ 
rated with fancy silk tail pieces; these for fancy 
shooting, while for every day shooting I was to 
use slugs. Christmas morning came, pursuant to 
the calendar’s regular custom, and with it a 
shiny rifle, which gladdened my heart beyond 
comprehension. I hurried out to try my gun. 
Sitting on a stone wall across the street about 
forty feet away was a chipmunk. Slipping into 
the chamber one of the darts, I aimed carefully 
—and missed. Four times more I mussed up 
the ambient atmosphere with my fancy ammu¬ 
nition, apparently much to the amusement of 
Mr. Chipmunk, who chattered gleefully. This 
was using up my “best” bullets too prodigally. 
I loaded with a slug, put the bead on the little 
rodent and pulled. The chatter ceased and over 
the wall fell the chipmunk. In the dozen bounds 
across the road I mentally had the skin stretched 
and tacked on a board drying, and the squirrel 
fried in butter on my plate for breakfast. Alas, 
I was too young to swear. When I reached 
down to pick up my quarry, he scampered into 
the wall and was gone. He had been only 
stunned; the toy gun didn’t have enough hitting 
power to kill a four-ounce chipmunk at less than 
fifteen yards. To say that I was disappointed 
is no more an adequate term than “pretty” de¬ 
scribes an October sunset. I was broken-hearted. 
I took the toy gun into the house and got out 
my sling shot—a real killer, though barred by 
father, mother and the neighbors. I waited 
around and by and by I got that chipmunk with 
a marble propelled by two elastics. 
At dinner father asked me how I liked my 
new gun. I tried to evade the question, but 
finally, almost tearfully, I told my sad tale. The 
next day dad took the toy gun back to the sport¬ 
ing goods store and exchanged it for a pretty 
little .22 caliber Remington, from which I grew, 
with long trousers, into bigger calibers, with 
BEFORE BREAKFAST—ST. PAUL’S RIVER, LABRADOR. 
Photograph by I. \ ey. 
which I have secured big-game heads of almost 
every description. However, the moral of the 
foregoing is obvious. Don’t disappoint the boy 
on Christmas day, even if you “make good” the 
day after. The time has passed when an out¬ 
door boy can be satisfied with a spring gun, a 
set of dominoes, neckties or things of the sort he 
knows are household necessities and clothing that 
dad has to buy him, anyhow. There are many 
useful gifts for a boy as well as for his father, 
as for instance a watch, than which there is 
none better than the Waltham-Riverside; a 
safety razor, of which the Durham-Duplex is 
as good as the best and better than the rest; 
Williams’ shaving soap, cream or powder adds 
much to the enjoyment of this tool. Cigars, yes. 
They make an acceptable present for father and 
son when the latter has reached the estate of 
the rifle that “hits like the hammer of Thor,” 
the great self-loading arm made by the Win¬ 
chester Arms Co. However, no one should make 
a gift of cigars unless the giver is a smoker and 
a judge of smoke, because more bad cigars are dis¬ 
guised in selling wrappers than proverbial wolves 
appareled in sheep’s clothing. Pipes and tobacco 
go far toward pleasure and comfort of the re¬ 
cipient, though only standard brands of the 
smoke weed are to be considered. Of these 
there are many of various flavors, all good and 
agreeable. The question of cigarettes—well, it 
isn’t a question; it’s a habit; to some a joy. 
From the Christmas gift menu the paper-covered 
smoke may be omitted. Boys, all boys, like skates 
as a means to an end. Sometimes the inter¬ 
mediate end is reached painfully during the in¬ 
terim. The end reached by skates is that of 
filling in between other sports. In my youthful 
days I liked Barney & Berry skates, a veritable 
Christmas trade mark. Now, years later, I pre¬ 
fer the B. & B. product. Shooting glasses please 
father or son, especially such as are made by 
the F. W. King Optical Co. F. W. King is 
a trapshooter in the upper register. He at¬ 
tributes much of his success to “F. W. K.” 
glasses, which he invariably uses. F. A. Hardy 
& Co. make an “auto glass” that is to be highly 
recommended to shooters as well as to motor 
boat and automobile drivers. A shooting coat 
is among the practical gifts, along with sweat¬ 
ers and hunting jerseys. The Nelson or Webber 
manufacture is made to fit the purpose as well 
as the figure. The youth and his father have 
