CHAPTER IISAM TAKES CHANCES
In simple fairness it should be said that Sam Parker meditated no breach of parental authority. Indeed, as he was permitted to own a little rifle, and to hunt for small game, it was possible that no serious objection would have been raised to his quest for deer, though there might have been scant faith in his success. But Sam, as it was fated, was not to secure permission for his expedition.
Mrs. Parker was not in the dining-room. Sam saw that the room was unoccupied, and went on to the library. It, too, failed to reward him for his search. So did the living-room. He strode into the hall, and took station by the foot of the stairs.
“Mother! Oh, Mother!” he called. “Say, Mother! Mother!”
There was no reply from above stairs or below.
“But I say, Mother!” His voice roseshrilly in his impatience. “Where are you? Oh, Ma, Ma, Ma!”
A door at the back of the hall opened, but the head which appeared was that of Maggie.
“Don’t make such a racket, Sam!” she cautioned. “What do you want, anyway?”
“Where’s Mother? I’ve got to see her—right off!”
“Well, she ain’t here.”
“Why not?” demanded the boy hotly.
Maggie tossed her head. “Because she can’t very well be in two places at once. And she’s run over to see Mis’ Lake for a minute.”
Sam stamped his foot. “Minute—nothing! I know what that means. She’ll stay half an hour.”
“Well, why shouldn’t she, if she wants to?” said Maggie coolly. And then, being busy, she closed the door and went back to her work.
Sam scowled; hesitated briefly; reached resolution; marched into the library. His little rifle stood in its appointed place against the wall, beside his father’s double-barreled gun. “The armory corner” of the library was a family joke; for though Sam’s rifle wasfrequently in use, the shotgun had not been taken out of the room in years. It was a fine weapon, of a noted make, and highly prized by its owner, who, however, had not hunted for many seasons; though regularly he planned expeditions in the woods, and bought a fresh stock of ammunition.
Sam laid eager hold upon his rifle; then, of a sudden, seemed to be seized by scorn of it. After all, it was never meant for big game. Why, with its short cartridges and light charges of powder, it was hardly more than a toy! Really, it was intended for target practice.
“Yet, for all that, it’s a rifle,” said the boy to himself. It was odd how, once his prejudice was aroused, arguments presented themselves to strengthen his objections. “And the law says you can’t hunt deer with rifles.”
Here he was speaking by the book. The statute, which provided an open season from December 1st to December 15th, also forbade the use of rifles by sportsmen. Possibly a very lenient judge might have held that Sam’s “pop-gun” hardly classed with the high-power, long-range weapons against whichthe law was aimed, and might have deemed it annoying rather than dangerous to two-footed or four-footed creatures; but Sam, at the moment, was not disposed to be liberal in his interpretation. He restored the piece to its place. He picked up the shotgun.
Temptation was strong upon him. Wasn’t it true that if he had not been told that he could use the gun he also had not been expressly forbidden to lay hands upon it? Nothing had been said about it either way. And didn’t his father wish him to have some knowledge of firearms? Of course he did! Oh, but it was a wonderfully persuasive voice, which seemed to be whispering in his ear! It was so seductive that it frightened him—a very, very little.
Sam hastily put down the gun. Yet he lingered in its neighborhood. Half absently he opened a drawer in his father’s desk. There, in a corner, was a paper box, labeled “31/4drams, smokeless; shot 00.” Cartridges for deer shooting! Surely here was Fate’s own finger pointing the way.
The boy drew a long breath. He lifted the cover of the box; took out half a dozen of thecartridges; thrust them into a pocket. Then he caught up the shotgun, and strode out of the library.
There was nobody to halt him or question him. Maggie was fully occupied in the kitchen, and his mother had not returned. Leaving the house by the front door, he avoided chance of observation by Lon Gates, who still was at work in the barn. Not that Lon would have stopped him; for the hired man would have supposed him to be sallying forth with his mother’s permission. Nevertheless, Sam preferred to have his going unnoted. He turned the corner of the house—the corner away from the barn; stole back through the yard; climbed a fence, and found himself in a narrow lane. It led to a side street, which, in turn, brought him to a road running into the country.
His gun tucked under his arm, Sam walked briskly; and as the Parker house happened to be on an edge of the town, it was but a very few minutes before he had open fields on either hand. Ahead of him was the low hill on which the Marlow farmhouse stood; and farther on were loftier wooded summits. Insummer the scenery of the region was pleasantly picturesque, but on an overcast December day a stranger might have found the prospect somewhat dreary. Sam, cheered by the spirit of adventure, and the better for the exercise, began to shake off his sulkiness; and he was whistling almost blithely when, at a bend in the road, he saw two boys approaching. Physically, they were in marked contrast. One was tall and thin, with a peculiarly angular effect at elbows and knees; the other was short and plump, with a round, good-humored face. Both hailed Sam eagerly.
“Hi there! Where are you going? What you doing with that artillery?” sang out the tall lad.
“Don’t fire! I’ll surrender,” chuckled his companion.
Sam halted. He brought his gun to parade rest. An onlooker might have suspected that he was not seeking secrecy regarding errand or armament in the case of these two friends.
“Hullo, Step!” said he. “Same to you, Poke! And what am I doing? Oh, just looking around on the chance of bagging something.”
The tall youth was carrying a package, wrapped in a newspaper. He laid it on the ground, and took the gun from Sam’s hands, balancing the weapon lovingly and finally raising it to his shoulder.
“Gee, but what a daisy!” he exclaimed. “Whose is it? Yours?”
“Oh, it isn’t exactly mine, Step, but I’m using it,” said Sam.
Any boy could have told how Clarence Jones came by his nickname. “Step” was an abbreviation of “Step-ladder”; and undeniably Master Jones did bear a resemblance to that valuable, if not graceful, article of household equipment.
“Here, let me take the shooting-iron!” the plump youth urged. His name was Arthur Green, but he was called “Poke,” because one so easily could dig a finger into his fat sides. Having placed the basket he had been carrying beside Step’s bundle, his hands were free to lay hold upon the gun. There was a little tussle, and Poke captured the prize.
“My eyes! but this is a crackerjack!” was his comment. “Jiminy, but you’re the lucky chap, Sam! What are you after?”
Sam did his best to appear blasé. “Oh, thought maybe I might get a shot at a buck.”
The reception of the remark was not flattering. “You!” jeered Step; Poke laughed.
“Why not?” Sam demanded, indignantly.
“That’s ri-right; why not?” Poke was quivering with amusement. “All you’ve got to do is to hold the gun and pull the trigger; and if only a deer happens to walk in the way, the gun’ll do the rest.”
Sam snatched the weapon from the jester. “Oh, cut the comedy!” he snapped. “There’s nothing funny about it. I’ll bet you fifty men and boys are out for deer to-day, and I’ve just as good a chance as any of them can have of running into a herd. And if I want to take a chance——Come, now! what’s ridiculous in that?”
Step was disposed to side with Sam. “There’s sense, Poke. Stop your kidding. I want to ask Sam something.”
“Well, what is it?” queried Master Parker guardedly.
“It’s about St. Mark’s. Are you sure you’re going there?”
“Why—why——” Sam hesitated. “Why,I’m practically sure, I guess. Father and I were talking it over last week; and I gathered that if I passed the mid-year examinations here he’d let me transfer.”
Step was rubbing his chin. “Well, that’s what I wanted to know. I’ve been campaigning to get my folks to send me, but they’re hanging off till they learn what your father will do with you.”
Sam’s petulance had vanished. “Great Scott, Step, but it would be cracking if we could go together!” he cried. “Say, Poke, get after your family! We three have been pals ever since we can remember. It’d be bully to take the gang to St. Mark’s.”
Poke shook his head. “Too bad, but there’s no hope for me. Little old High School has got to be good enough for Yours Truly.”
“Oh, the school’s all right,” said Sam. “Only—as my father puts it—it’s case of general versus special. We can fit for college here, but the preparatory course is but one of several, while at St. Mark’s it’s the whole thing. That ought to mean a better ‘fit.’ And you know the fun the fellows have there, and the athletics, and all the rest of it.”
Poke’s expression was uncommonly serious. “You’ve set your heart on going, Sam, haven’t you?”
“It’ll be broken if I don’t go.”
Poke gave a funny little sigh. “Oh, well, they’ll need some of us to stay home and run the errands, I reckon. And I guess I’m unanimously elected. Here’s one, for instance.” And he picked up his basket.
“What have you got there?” Sam asked.
“Eggs! Two dozen—all Mrs. Trask could spare. And fifty-five cents a dozen! Say, when I’m carrying this basket, I feel like a walking cash register!”
Step had resumed possession of his package. “And here’s one of Mrs. Trask’s roosters—five and a half pounds, dressed. I’m some plutocrat myself.”
Sam shouldered his gun. “We’re all pretty richly loaded to-day,” said he. “I suppose if I kill an eight-point buck you won’t care to have me send a haunch to either of you?”
“Oh, well, I’ll take it—as a favor to you,” quoth Step.
“Same here!” chimed in Poke. Then he was seized by an idea. “Look here, Sam!If you shoot anything—short of a heifer calf—bring it down to the club this afternoon, and we’ll have a feed. Both of us are going to be there.”
“But come, anyway,” urged Step. “If you don’t hit bird or beast, you’ll have a story to tell of the big ones that got away.”
Sam nodded. “All right; I’ll be there,” he promised readily.