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"
"Got you there, old sport," grunted Duff, highly amused at Sandy's
discomfiture. But to Barry he said, "I guess it's our own business how
we express ourselves."
"Yes, it is, but, pardon me, not entirely so. There are others in the
world, you know, and you must consider others. The habit is a bad habit,
a rotten habit, and quite useless--silly, indeed."
Duff turned his back upon him. Sandy, giving his friend a nudge, burst
into a loud laugh.
"You are right, sir," he said, turning to Barry. "You are quite right."
At this point Slipper created a diversion.
"Hello!" said Duff. "Say! Look at him!" He pointed to the dog. "Ain't he
a picture!"
A hundred yards away stood Slipper, rigid, every muscle, every hair
taut, one foot arrested in air.
"I'll just get those," said Duff, slipping out of the buckboard and
drawing the gun from beneath the seat. "Steady, old boy, steady! Hold
the lines, Sandy."
He moved quickly toward the dog who, quivering with that mysterious
instinct found in the hunting dog, still held the point with taut
muscles, nose and tail in line.


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