"For sport, of course," answered Bill promptly. "Squires always go in for sport. I reckon we shall have a game."
"Hornets are dangerous, aren't they?" said Dick doubtfully.
"It don't do to get stung," returned Bill; "but then you don't if you can help; and that's what makes the sport. I wonder," added Bill the Kicker, struck with an original thought, "who'd care to storm a flies' nest!—Supposin' that they made 'em, which they don't. And there again, you see," he added further, "flies don't make nests, because they haven't got to keep out of the way—" Which remark contained a wholesome moral, if he had but possessed the wit to see it.
Knowing nothing of such country matters, Dick naturally felt some respect for Bill the Kicker, who talked as if he had it all on good authority.
"Look here," proposed he presently; "tell me when the sport's to be."
Bill shook his head with a doubtful air.
"Why not?" asked Dick.
Bill the Kicker drew his mouth tight, stretching it almost from ear to ear, and shook his head again.
Dick held out a bait.
"I've got a goodish big-sized boat at home," said he persuasively. "I mayn't go near the river yet, but so soon as ever I get leave, I'll let you know."