I looked around to see who the new speaker was, and presently discovered him in the person of a handsome bird gun, who rested upon a pair of deer’s antlers a short distance away.
“You can’t bring a squirrel out of the top of the tallest hickory in the woods, or stop a woodcock or a grouse on the wing, but I can,” continued the double-barrel.
“I can catch a trout, if I have some one to back me who understands his business, and that’s more than you can do,” retorted the bamboo, spitefully. “I can throw a line sixty or seventy feet; I heard the proprietor of this store say so.”
“And I can throw shot sixty or seventy yards, which is three times as far as you can throw a line,” shouted the double-barrel. “You seem to think yourself of some consequence because you came from New York. I came all the way from England, and that is on the other side of the ocean.”
“So you are an assisted immigrant, are you?” cried the bamboo, in tones indicative of the greatest contempt. “Well, that’s all I care to know about you.”
The disputants grew more and more in earnest the longer they talked, and pretty soon there were some hard words used. I took no part in the controversy, for I felt rather bashful in the presence of those who had seen so much more of the world than I had, and who were worth so much more money, and besides I could not see what there was to quarrel about. My sympathies were with the bamboo, arrogant as he had showed himself to be, because he was an American like myself; but still the English fowling-piece, “assisted immigrant” though he was, had a right to live in this country so long as he behaved himself, and as he was a showy fellow, I had no doubt that he would get out of the store before either the bamboo or myself. And so he did. While the dispute was at its height the door opened and a young man came in—a tall young man, with very thin legs, peaked shoes, gold eye-glasses and a downy upper lip. He walked with a mincing step and drawled out his words when he talked.
“A dude!” whispered the bamboo.
Before I could ask what a “dude” was, the proprietor came up, and the talking was for a moment hushed. Being impatient to be released from the show-case so that we could see what was going on in the great world outside, each one of us cherished the secret hope that we might find favor in the eyes of the prospective purchaser. We were so inexperienced and foolish that we didn’t care much who bought us, so long as we got out.
“I—aw! I want to look at a nice light bird gun,” said the young man; “something you can recommend for woodcock and the like, don’t yer know?”
“Why, that’s a countryman of mine,” exclaimed the double-barrel, who seemed to be highly excited by the discovery.