Did I not say, me, that narrow,
thin--what you name it,--nostril, shows man that is brave, man that has
no fear? Me sabe now. He _not_ 'bally.'"
Gun-Shy Billy
"No, sir! Not for me," Bert Hooper was saying. "I won't join the crowd
if Billy is going. Do you fellows suppose I'm going to have my holiday
all spoiled, and not get any game, all because you want Billy? _He's_
no good on a hunting trip. I tell you he's gun-shy."
"That's so," said another boy. "I've seen him stop his ears with his
fingers when Bert shot his gun off--more than once, too."
"Ought to be named 'Gussie,'" said Bert. "A great big fellow like Billy,
_scared of a gun_! He must be sixteen, and large for his age at that.
He's worse than that dog I had last year--don't you remember, boys? He'd
follow us for miles through the bush, raise game, point a partridge all
right, and the second we shot a gun off--no more dog. All you'd see was
a white-and-tan streak with its tail curled under it, making for home."
"Well," said Tommy McLean, a boy who never spoke until all the rest had
thrashed a subject out, "I'd rather see a fellow gun-shy than see him
a bally idiot with fire-arms.
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