“Well, then let’s talk of something else,” said Mrs. Martin gently. “Don’t you think this ash tray is very pretty? Westy brought it to you, dear.” “For goodness’ sake, don’t use the word _dear_ again, mother,” said Doris, munching her apple. “I’ve heard so much about deers——” “And the boy’s lost a hundred dollars!” thundered Mr. Martin, ignoring his daughter. “When I was his age——” “Well, he’s had his lesson,” said Doris sweetly. “A hundred dollars isn’t so much for a good lesson.” “No?” said her father. “It’s enough for you to make a big fuss about when you want it. I said from the beginning that I was opposed to firearms. I don’t want them around the house—look at Doctor Warren’s boy.” At this Doris sank into a limp attitude of utter despair, for the accidental killing of the Warren boy had occurred before Westy was born and it had been cited on an average of twice a day ever since Westy’s rifle had been brought into the house under the frowning protest of his father. “Well, now, let’s settle this matter once and for all,” said Mr. Martin. “And I don’t want to be interrupted either,” he added. “You’ve bought a gun against my wishes,” he said, turning on Westy. “You had to have a gun—nothing would do but a gun. Your mother saw no harm. Your sister said there was—what did you say?—something heroic, was it, about a gun? All right, you got the gun—repeater or whatever it is. I asked you not to take it away with you but you must take it to shoot at targets. You went up there to earn some money to go out to the Yellowstone. Now here you are back again with hardly a cent in your pockets and you’ve broken the law and the one thing I’m thankful for is that you haven’t shed the blood of some other boy. Now this is the last word I’m going to say about it——” Doris groaned, Mrs. Martin looked sadly at her son who was listening respectfully, shifting from one foot to the other, his straightforward eyes brimming over. “This is the last I’m going to say about it,” repeated Mr. Martin in a way which did actually at last suggest something in the way of a decisive end of the whole business. “Now, Westy,” he continued with a note of feeling in his voice, “you’ve put an end to all my thoughts about going to the Yellowstone with you.” Westy gulped, listening. “You’ve paid the money you earned and saved to keep yourself out of jail. Three and three and three make nine——” “Just the same as they did before,” said Doris sweetly. “—a boy, a gun, and a wild animal, those three things spell danger. Now, my boy, I’m not going to go on blaming you and I’m not going to ask you any questions because those three things answer the question good enough for me. Boy—gun—— And you’ve lost a hundred dollars and had a good scare. I don’t blame you that you don’t want to talk about it. The gun spoke for itself; am I right?” “Y-yes, sir,” Westy gulped.