The dinner was well worth eating, as all Sam's dinners were; and when ample justice had been done to it, Oscar brought up the ducks that were in the boat and placed them with those that were piled behind the blind.
"Sam," said he, when he had counted them, "we've got just forty-two."
"A pretty good day's work," replied Sam. "I want six of them. You take the rest and ship them to Yarmouth."
"I guess not," answered Oscar promptly. "We'll divide, as we have always done. Twenty-one of these ducks belong to you, and if you want any of them shipped to the city, you can attend to the matter yourself."
"So I can. I didn't think of that."
Sam spoke as though he did not care what was done with the ducks, but there was something in his tone that caused Oscar to sit up on his knees and look at him very sharply.
He knew well enough that if Sam sent any of the ducks to Yarmouth they would be sent in his (Oscar's) name, and that his friend would expect him to receive the proceeds and apply them to his own use. Sam did not need the money himself, for he had a rich and indulgent father; but that made no difference to Oscar, who wanted to earn every cent he spent.
"Sam," said he earnestly, "if you do that I shall be very angry at you."
"If I do what?" returned Sam innocently.