"Let's look at it," he repeated, holding out his hand.
Mechanically I passed him the gun.

He examined it as if he was used to such things, broke it, snapped it shut, tried the locks with his thumb and handed it back to me.
"Anything worth shooting around here ?" he asked, pulling the armchair toward him and sitting.
I think I did not let him see how astonished I was at his attitude.

I tried not to.
"Why yes," I answered, "in the season.

Plenty of coots, some black duck, and quail and partridge in the woods." "That so! Peters, that carpenter of mine, said something of the sort, I remember, but I wouldn't believe him under oath.

I could shoot HIM with more or less pleasure, but there seems to be no open session for his species.