Mrs. Maynard. Of course he has: he's always meddling.
Capt. Mrs. Maynard, that's an absurd remark. It's all right: one of my surprises. You must know I wanted a rooster for to-morrow's dinner. I'm very fond of them: there's such a warlike taste about them. And we are a little short of roosters; my last one, being a little belligerent this morning, walked into Higgins's yard, and engaged in deadly combat: so deadly that Higgins's fowl was stretched a lifeless corse upon the ground: for Bragg's roosters always lick, always. But in spite of my earnest protest, despite the warlike maxim, Spoils to the victor belong, Higgins shot my rooster and nailed him to his barn door like a crow, and his crow was gone. Fact, by jingo.
Maynard. Yes: but what's that got to do with my rooster?
Capt. Well, I wanted a rooster: so says I to myself, Maynard's got plenty, he can spare one just as well as not; so I'm come to borrow one. Well, I found you had company, and not wishing to disturb you, and seeing a gun handy, I singled out my dinner roosting aloft there, raised the gun,—you know I'm a dead shot,—shut my eyes—
Tom. Shut your eyes! Is that one of your dead shot tactics?
Capt. Shut one eye, squinted, of course, that's what I said, and fired. The result of that shot is before you. If you will examine that fowl, you will find that he is shot clean through the neck.
Stub. He's shot all ober; looks jes for all de world like a huckleberry puddin'.
Maynard. Well, captain, I call this rather a cool proceeding.
Capt. Ah, you flatter me: but coolness is a characteristic of the Braggs. When I raised that company for the war, the Lawless Rangers, I said to those men, Be cool: don't let your ardor carry you too far.
Tom. Yours didn't run you into battle, did it, captain?