“This is the last I’m going to say about it,” repeated Mr. Martin in a way which did actually at last suggest something in the way of a decisive end of the whole business. “Now, Westy,” he continued with a note of feeling in his voice, “you’ve put an end to all my thoughts about going to the Yellowstone with you.” Westy gulped, listening. “You’ve paid the money you earned and saved to keep yourself out of jail. Three and three and three make nine——”
“Just the same as they did before,” said Doris sweetly.
“—a boy, a gun, and a wild animal, those three things spell danger. Now, my boy, I’m not going to go on blaming you and I’m not going to ask you any questions because those three things answer the question good enough for me. Boy—gun—— And you’ve lost a hundred dollars and had a good scare. I don’t blame you that you don’t want to talk about it. The gun spoke for itself; am I right?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Westy gulped.
“All right then, as they say, return the goods and no questions asked. They say every dog is entitled to one bite and I suppose every boy that has a gun gets one shot. Now you’ve had yours and paid a good price for it. Now, Westy, you bring me that gun, here and now.” He clapped his hands with an air of finality and there followed a tense silence.
“If—if I don’t—if I promise not to use—even take it outdoors——”
“No, sir, you bring me that gun here and now.”
Mr. Martin was grimly mandatory and neither his wife nor daughter ventured a word, though Mrs. Martin looked the picture of misery. Westy brought his precious rifle from his room and handed it to his father. Mr. Martin held it as if it were a poisonous snake. The mirthful Doris placed the apple she was eating upon her head as if to invite the modern William Tell to shoot it off. But Mr. Martin was not tuned to this sort of banter.
Unlocking the closet beside the fireplace he gingerly lay the rifle inside it and locked the closet again, joggling the door to give himself double assurance that it was securely locked. In his over-sensitive state, Westy construed this last act as an implication by his father that his son might later try to get the door open.
“You don’t have to lock it,” said Westy proudly.