“It’ll be broken if I don’t go.”
Poke gave a funny little sigh. “Oh, well, they’ll need some of us to stay home and run the errands, I reckon. And I guess I’m unanimously elected. Here’s one, for instance.” And he picked up his basket.
“What have you got there?” Sam asked.
“Eggs! Two dozen—all Mrs. Trask could spare. And fifty-five cents a dozen! Say, when I’m carrying this basket, I feel like a walking cash register!”
Step had resumed possession of his package. “And here’s one of Mrs. Trask’s roosters—five and a half pounds, dressed. I’m some plutocrat myself.”
Sam shouldered his gun. “We’re all pretty richly loaded to-day,” said he. “I suppose if I kill an eight-point buck you won’t care to have me send a haunch to either of you?”
“Oh, well, I’ll take it—as a favor to you,” quoth Step.
“Same here!” chimed in Poke. Then he was seized by an idea. “Look here, Sam! If you shoot anything—short of a heifer calf—bring it down to the club this afternoon, and we’ll have a feed. Both of us are going to be there.”
“But come, anyway,” urged Step. “If you don’t hit bird or beast, you’ll have a story to tell of the big ones that got away.”
Sam nodded. “All right; I’ll be there,” he promised readily.