Tom smiled, but left Mr. Percival to tell the story.
“I was emphatically up a tree,” said the banker, “with a grizzly standing guard underneath, when this brave boy (Tom blushed at the compliment) came up, and taking effectual aim, disposed of Mr. Bruin.”
“You don’t mean to say you killed a grizzly, Tom?” exclaimed Mr. Brush, in excitement.
“It is a literal fact,” said Robert Percival, “and one of the largest specimens I have ever seen.”
“Where is he?”
“We were not able to bring him along,” said Tom, smiling. “If you and the doctor can manage him I will give him to you.”
“I’ve always wanted to kill a grizzly,” said Peter Brush, meditatively. “It would be a feather in my cap. Yet here am I, a man of fifty-two, and I have not had a chance yet, while you, a mere stripling, have succeeded.”
“I didn’t go to do it,” said Tom, with a queer smile.
“No, but you’ve done it, while neither I nor my friend the doctor, I presume, have ever succeeded.”
“I think I could dispose of a first-class grizzly if he would only consent to take my medicines,” said the doctor, dryly.