Ring Lardner
Oakland Enquirer/January 3, 1919
THE Grizzled Vet chuckled to himself as he hastily got out of bed and smothered the alarm clock. Although it was still night, he did not light a lamp, but dressed in the dark. In a short time he had a fire going and the coffee on. Then he filled his pipe and waited.
In less than five minutes the door of his cabin was opened unceremoniously and the Enthusiastic Youngster walked in.
“Huh,” said the Youngster, by way of greeting. “You’re not fooling anybody. I could see the smoke pouring out of your chimney a half mile down the road and when I got here I could smell your coffee and your pipe.”
“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes,” chuckled the Vet.
The Youngster removed his hunting coat and waited while the Vet made a generous stack of flapjacks.
“We ought to get some ducks today, as the wind would like to blow the hair off’n your head,” said the Youngster, repeating one of the Vet’s pet phrases.
“Ought to get ducks? We’re goin’ to get ’em,” was the Vet’s decisive answer. “Can’t help but get ’em with this northwest wind.”
“How do you know that the wind is from the northwest?” inquired the Youngster.
“Because if it came from any point in the south it would blow in the window and the pines are on the north and northeast and the fire is drawing too well for the wind to be any place but in the northwest. You see you ain’t the only Sherlock in these parts.”
They loaded the duck boat with great care. First the bottom was filled with dry straw; then came a rubber blanket; then a crate of live decoys, and finally the wooden blocks with the anchor cords carefully wrapped around their bodies and fastened with a half hitch around their necks. Soon the heavily laden little craft, carefully poled by the Vet, nosed her way out of the creek and headed for the upper end of the bay.
It was still dark and the Youngster wondered how the Vet was ever going to find the blind. The live decoys stirred uneasily.
“How’s your voice this mornin’, Gabby?” asked the Vet. And Gabby, an old drake hatched from a “wild egg,” answered in low gutturals and the Vet understood what he said. Of course those who have never associated intimately with live callers won’t believe that, but every old duck hunter knows that in every bunch of callers there is one with whom you can converse when you feel lonesome — providing of course you are in the good graces of the duck.
Soon the life of the marshland was astir A clamorous ca-ca-crik-k-k came from the weeds near the shore.
“Never knew the rails to stay so late,” remarked the Vet, anticipating the Youngster’s question, “but they’ll likely clear out tonight if this wind keeps up.”
Now said the Vet a little later, as he drove his paddle into the bottom, “hand me them blocks.”
“Can’t I throw ’em out?” inquired the Youngster, anxious to be of help.
“Not until you have learned how,” was the answer. “You see,” he continued, “we expect to shoot mostly mallards and teal and sprigs today, as it’s a bit too early for the deep water ducks.”
“What difference does that make?” the Youngster asked.
“A whole lot. The A B C class in settin’ out decoys will now rise,” replied the Vet. “You see pintails will usually light to the windward of the decoys and mallards and teal will plunk right down in the middle of ’em, so we are setting ’em out accordingly.”
When the blocks were set out to the old man’s satisfaction he opened the crate. “Now, Gabby” he said, dropping the big drake overboard, “do your durndest today, as this young feller wants some ducks to take back to town.” Then they pushed into the blind.
It was partly light now and the Youngster was greatly impressed by the desolate loneliness of a cold, gray dawn on a marsh, as all young duck hunters are. Far down the bay a big flock of ducks wheeled, showing snowy white under wings.
“Mallards,” said the Vet. “Time to load up; they’re headin’ this way.”
Gabby started to “talk” a little. Suddenly he broke out into the call that gives all true duck hunters a thrill. The ducks wheeled and headed straight for the decoys.
“I’ll say when,” whispered the Vet.
A few seconds later he said, “Now.” The Youngster’s .20 gauge barked spitefully, twice in rapid succession, and three ducks fell.
“Why didn’t you shoot?” inquired the happy Youngster.
“Just wanted to see if you had your eye with you today—and I reckon you have,” was the answer.
They heard the rumble of distant shooting, and suddenly a big flock of ducks with outrageously long necks headed their way.
“Pintails,” whispered the Vet, and the Youngster waited their coming with confidence. He had killed his first birds and that made him sure of himself. He is now ready to be graduated from the A B C class of duck hunting.
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