“You don’t mean bay snipe!” exclaimed the doctor in a disgusted tone, “we have had enough of them.”
“He probably alludes to water-turkey,” I observed quietly, “he has tasted every thing else.”
“I don’t mean water-turkey either, although for all you can tell it may be a good bird to eat. I mean turkey without the water.” With that he brought the front legs of his chair to their natural position with a thud that shook the deck.
“Turkey,” shouted the doctor with enthusiasm, “just talk turkey to me, tell me where and when and how. I would swim ashore, if there was a chicken much more a turkey in sight, or the hut of a darkey, who might have either to sell.”
“Well then suppose we go ashore and kill one,” remarked Seth with quiet complacency, as though such a feat were the simplest everyday occurrence of life.
That settled it. “Oh dear, I should so like a piece of turkey” came from the cabin. “Yes, I am so tired of fish,” was the chorussed approval, and although I felt assured that, strangers as we were to the country, and without a guide accustomed to the work, there would be no chance of success, I had to give in and come to anchor.
Mr. Green got out his rifle, and the doctor his breech-loader, taking a dozen cartridges loaded with buck-shot. Our head man Charley was to accompany them, while I remained in charge of the yacht. None of us knew by experience much of the habits of turkeys, and as it was still early in the day it was determined to start at once, and return again on the following morning if it should be deemed advisible.
“Now,” said the doctor, “if we only had a turkey call, we would be sure to succeed.”
“Can you use the call?” I inquired.
“Oh no,” he answered promptly, “but I dare say Mr. Green can.”