“I rise to a point of order!” breaks in the Judge. “This meeting is not yet duly open, and, at all events, this is a special one, and business of the regular order must be excluded. Referring to the constitution----” “Oh, to thunder with the constitution! Let us get off on our hunt!” And Tinker looks annihilation at the order pointer. “Well, well, fellows,” laughs the Doc, “I shall rule partially in favor of both. I shall rule that Budge do tell us his latest joke as a penalty. Come now, prisoner, out with it and save your fine!” “Say, boys,” begins Budge, deprecatingly, “don't insist. I'm sorry I was late, but the fact is I was giving elaborate orders for the supper, which I know it will be just my luck to get stuck for. One of my special orders was to secure a magnificent roast and have it cooked in Ben Jonson style.” “Ben Jonson style? How is that?” queries the Doc. “'O, rare Ben Jonson!' There, Mr. President,” he adds, when the laugh ceases, “I believe that debt is squared.” We have made out our list and fixed points, ranging from chipmunk, 1, to bear, 1,000. “You leave out quail, I notice. Now that is an omission which----” But the Judge is cut short on all sides. “Out in the wild and woolly West, from whence you have but recently emigrated to civilization and refinement,” remarks the Doc, “quail are about as plentiful as hedge sparrows are here. But a quail has not been seen in this section for ten years, I'll venture to say. No, Judge, we needn't point on quail this time!” “And yet,” I observe in an encouraging tone, “who knows but we may each and all happen on a covey.” “That is extravagant. But if any man should be lucky enough to bag a brace, that I may enjoy one more good square meal of quail on toast, I'll stand the supper.” And the Judge looked straight at Budge. “Now that is what I would call extravagant--supper for a whole party in consideration of a dish of quail on toast. Suppose you yourself should bag the brace. But this reminds me of the man who ordered quail on toast in a Boston restaurant. He was brought in some toast. He waited a while. Presently he called the waiter and repeated the order. 'There you are, sir!' answered Thomas. 'That? That is toast, of course; but where's the quail?' The waiter pointed to a small speck in the centre of each slice, looking like a baked fly. 'Ah! so this dish is quail on toast, is it?' 'Yes, sir!' 'Then you just remove it and bring me turkey on toast!'” We draw lots for choice of directions, and fix 8 p. m. sharp for reassembling to compare scores. My choice fell on a due north course, along which, seven miles distant, lay cover where I had scarcely ever failed to find at least fair sport and to take game, such as it was. And I went it alone--barring my dog. [Illustration: 0142]