Archie looked distressed.
“I’d like to, but I can’t—now,” he said, in a low tone. “Won’t you take me on faith?”
Dick shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll have to, I reckon, Mac,” he returned. “All right. I’ll do my best to help you out.”
He walked into the other room where the Yale men were busily engaged in putting together their guns, filling cartridge belts with shells, and making general preparations for the day’s sport. Joblots stood watching them, a look of awed admiration on his face.
“My grathiouth!” he exclaimed. “I with I could do that ath quick ath you do. It taketh me about an hour to fixth my gun wight.”
Fitzgerald grinned.
“I guess you haven’t had much practice with a gun, have you?” he inquired slyly.
“Not much,” Joblots returned sadly. “I with I wath going with you thith morning. I’d learn a lot.”
“Mac’s got to go in to the village,” Dick announced. “Anybody want him to get anything?”