"In the other box, sir. The one above."

"Tell him to come down."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

The Judge was as pleased as Punch. "That man up there in Waterman's
box has heard of my collection," he explained to his party. "He wants
me to settle a point about the Virginia partridge."

"Which man?" Randy's tone was ominous.

Dalton's arrival saved the Judge an answer. In his hunting pink, with
his Apollo head, Dalton was upon them. The Judge, passing him around
to the members of his party, came at last to Becky.

"My granddaughter, Becky Bannister."

With George's sparkling gaze bent full upon her, Becky blushed.

Randy saw the blush. "Oh, Lord," he said, under his breath, and stuck
his hands in his pockets.

"I've always called it a quail," Dalton was saying.

"You would if you come from the North. To be exact, it isn't either,
it's an American Bob-white. I'd be glad to have you come up and look
at my collection. There is every kind of bird that has been shot in
Virginia fields or Virginia waters. I've got a Trumpeter Swan. The