He had no fear of his father now, but here was Dan, who was an
unpleasant fellow to have about when he was crossed, and he seemed to
know all about it. There were troublous times ahead; David was sure
of that.
"What does that feller up North want with so many quails, anyhow?"
asked Dan, as he placed one of the oak blocks upon its end and began
splitting off a shingle with the frow. "He can't eat 'em all by
hisself."
"No, he wants to turn them loose and let them run," replied David,
with as much good nature as he could assume. "You see they had an
awful hard winter up there last year, and the quails were all killed
off."
"Wall, what does the fule want to let 'em go fur, arter he's bought
'em?"
"Why, he wants to stock the country. He belongs to a Sportsman's Club
up there. He and his friends will have a law passed keeping folks
from shooting them for two or three years, and then there'll be just
as many birds as there were before."
"Is that the way them rich fellers does?"
"That's what Don says."
"It's mighty nice to be rich, ain't it, Davy; to have all the money
you want to spend, a nice hoss to ride, one of them guns what breaks
in two in the middle to do your shootin' with, an' shiny boots an' a
straw hat to wear to church! I wish me an' pap had found that thar
bar'l with the eighty thousand dollars into it.
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