“We’re jes going to miss you a right good lot,” said his aunt with affectionate vehemence, “and don’t forget you’re going to come up and see us in the winter.”
“I want to,” said Westy.
Ira, the farm hand, was seated on the carriage step smoking an atrocious pipe which he removed from his mouth long enough to bid Westy good-by in his humorous drawling way. The two had been great friends.
“I reckon you’d like to get a bead on a nice, big, hissin’ wildcat with that gol blamed toy, wouldn’ yer now, huh?”
“You go ’long with you,” said Aunt Mira, “he wouldn’ nothing of the kind.”
Westy smiled good-naturedly.
“Wouldn’ yer now, huh?” persisted Ira. “I seed ’im readin’ ’baout them hunters in Africa droppin’ lions an’ tigers an’ what all. I bet ye’d like to get one—good—plunk at a wildcat now, wouldn’ yer? Kerplunk, jes like that, hey? Then ye’d feel like a reg’lar Teddy Roosevelt, huh?” Ira accompanied this intentionally tempting banter with a demonstration of aiming and firing.
Westy laughed. “I wouldn’t mind being like Roosevelt,” he said.
“Yer couldn’ drop an elephant at six yards,” laughed Ira.
“Well, I guess I won’t meet any elephants in the woods between here and Chandler,” Westy said.