"Yes,"—wondering what a genius might be,—"if he'll only let you go with him you'll have a good shoot."
"If he'll let me! Why shouldn't he? I expect to pay him for his trouble."
Morton laughed.
"That wouldn't make any difference. He doesn't seem to care much for money; all he notices is how a man handles his gun. If you hold it just to suit him, he'll go, and if you don't, he won't."
"How ridiculous! Well, do for goodness' sake tell me in what manner I must handle the gun that I may please this Criticus."
Morton bridled with indignation.
"He ain't a cuss, Uncle Adam ain't. He's a nice man, and he knows what he's about too. If you'd see some o' the fools that come down here to shoot you'd be particular too, I guess. They're a good deal more apt to hit their guide than the birds, I can tell you."
The young man laughed heartily.
"My boy, I hadn't the slightest intention of calling your relative names; that was simply a title many men would be proud to bear."
"That's all right." in a mollified tone; "but he isn't any relation to me. Everybody calls him uncle."