“Perhaps I had better change that,” said Lester, after thinking a moment, “and say market-shooters instead of pot-hunters.”

“There are no such things as market-shooters in the county.”

“But there are market-trappers,” said Lester.  “There are persons here, who are catching quails and shipping them out of the state.”

“Yes, there is one who thinks of going into the business, and I got him the job.  It wouldn’t look very well for me to turn around now and tell him that he must not do it.”

“You could say to him that you have had reason to change your mind lately, and that you know it isn’t right to do such things.”

“But I haven’t changed my mind.”

“You ought to.  The first thing you know there will be no birds for you and me to shoot.”

“I’ll risk that.  You may trap two hundred dozen if you want to, and send them out of the county, and when you have done it, I will go out any morning with my pointer and shoot birds enough for breakfast.  I’ll leave more in the fields, too, than you can bag in six months,” added Don, and Bert saw the point he was trying to make, if Lester did not.  “Besides, what right have I to tell Dave what he shall do and what he shall not do?  He’d laugh at me.”

“Well, he wouldn’t do it more than once.  A few days in the calaboose would bring him to his senses.”

“Who would put him there?”

“The club would.”

“Where’s the club’s authority for such a proceeding?”

Lester lifted the constitution and tapped it with his forefinger by way of reply.

“I think I had better have nothing to do with it,” said Don, who could scarcely refrain from laughing outright.

“We intend to make you our president,” said Lester.

“I am obliged to you,” replied Don, but still he did not take any more interest in the Sportsman’s Club than he had done before.  He did not snap up the bait thus thrown out, as Lester hoped he would.  He was not to be bought, even by the promise of office.  Lester saw that, and arose to take his leave.

“Well, think it over,” said he.  “Sleep on it for a few nights, and if at any time you decide to go in with us, just let me know.  Good evening!”

“I’ll do so,” answered Don.  “Good evening!”

Lester bowed himself out of the room and Bert accompanied him to the door.  The first question the latter asked when he came back was:—­

“Is there a beast or a bird in the world whose Latin name is canis-lupus?”

Don threw himself back upon the sofa and laughed until the room rang again.  “Is there a beast or a bird in the world whose English name is dog-wolf?” he asked, as soon as he could speak.  “I did give Lester credit for a little common sense and a little knowledge, but I declare he possesses neither.  It beats the world how he has got things mixed.  Just listen to this,” added Don, consulting his note-book.  “He speaks of a pheasant and calls it T.  Scolopax.  Now Scolopax is a snipe.  He probably meant ruffed grouse, and should have called it Tetrao Umbellus.  He speaks of a partridge when he means quail, or more properly Bob White, there being no quails on this side the Atlantic——­”