A very brown-faced man with twinkling gray eyes turned from buying black powder and felt wads to look at him amusedly. "Hullo, Bobby," said he, "so your father's going to win the rifle and give it to you, is he? Are you sure?" "Of course," replied Bobby simply; "my papa can do anything he wants to." The man laughed. "What do you know about rifles, and what would you do with one?" he asked. "I know all about them," replied Bobby with great positiveness, "and I know where there's lots of squirrels." The storekeeper had by now taken the Flobert from the show window. The other man reached out his hand for it. "Well, tell me about this one," he challenged. "It's a Flobert," said Bobby without hesitation, "and it weighs five and a half pounds; and its ri-fling has one turn in twenty-eight inches; and it has a knife-blade front sight, and a bar rear sight; and it shoots 22 longs, 22 shorts, C B caps, and B B caps. Only B B caps aren't very good for it," he added. "Whew!" cried the man. "Here, take it!" Bobby looked it over with delight and reverence. This was the first time he had enjoyed it at close hand. The blue of the octagon barrel was like satin; the polish of the stock like a mirror; the gold plating of the most fancy lock and guards like the sheen of silk. Bobby loved, too, the indescribable _gun_ smell of it--compounded probably of the odours of steel, wood and oil. With some difficulty he lifted it to his face and looked through the rather wobbly sights. Reluctantly he gave it back into the storekeeper's hands. "Would you mind, please," he asked, a little awed, "would you mind letting me see a box of cartridges?" Stafford smiled and reached to the shelf behind, from which he took a small, square, delightful, red box. It had reading on it, and a portrait of the little cartridges it contained. Bobby feasted his eyes in silence. "I--I know it's a prize," said he at last. "But--how much _was_ it?" "Fifteen dollars," replied Mr. Bishop. Bobby's eyes widened to their utmost capacity. "Why--why--why!" he gasped; "I thought it must be a thousand." Both men exploded in laughter, in the confusion of which, stunned, surprised, delighted and excited with the thought of eventual ownership, Bobby marched out the door, where he was joined gravely by Duke, his beautiful feather tail waving slowly to and fro as he walked. Later in the day Kincaid, the spare, brown man with the twinkling gray eyes, met Mr. Orde on the street. "Hullo, Orde!" he greeted. "Hear you have a sure win of the tournament." "Sure win!" said Orde, puzzled, "What you talking about? You know I couldn't shoot against you fellows." "Well, your small boy told me you were going to win that rifle down at Bishop's, and give it to him." Orde's face clouded. "He's been talking nothing but rifle for a month," said he. "I'm going West in September. Wouldn't have any show against you fellows, anyway."