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Show XJier . 1 FICTION WALTER BUTTON GOES HUHTINalJfift 1 B By JOHN SHARDA II "W Corner IP vXJX Walter wasn't the hunting type but, encouraged by his wife, he decided to try his luck. He thought he cut quite a fetching figure in the togs he rigged up, but unfortunately, he learned that a man needs more than appearance to bag some game. pMMA BUTTON laid aside the sweater she was knitting and cleared her throat. Her husband, Walter, Instantly snapped to attention. atten-tion. His lean frame had been comfortably com-fortably sprawled in his fuvorite chair, but now he was sitting up straight. "We could save lot of money on our meat bill," began Emma. "If you'd get out and do some hunting.", hunt-ing.", Walter remained silent. He was accustomed to being mildly startled by his wife's remarks. "Zeke Smith goes hunting nearly every Saturday," she continued. "And he always comes home with twa or three rabbits. Sadie says they save a right smart amount each week." Walter thought it was time he said something. "I've never done any hunting, Emma. Zcke's been doing it all his life." "Humph J" Emma snorted. You can learn, can't you? And there's a perfectly good shotgun rusting "But I'd have to buy a hunting license," remonstrated Walter, weakly. away up In the attic because nobody no-body uses it." She was referring to a weapon of questionable age and condition that Walter had been given by his grandfather. "But I'd have to buy a hunting license," remonstrated Walter, weakly. He saw his line of defense being methodically torn down by his wife. Emma regarded him deliberately. deliberate-ly. "One little cotton-tail rabbit would more than pay for a license.", Walter surrendered. He might as well make the best of it now. "Yes, that'i true," he agreed. "And the exercise might do me good." "Of course it would, dear," Emma Em-ma beamed. As usual she had emerged the victor. "Today's Thursday, why don't you go Saturday?" Satur-day?" she queried. Emma was not one to put things off once she had mnde up her mind. "That'i awfully soon," said Walter, Wal-ter, even though he knew it wouldn't do much good to stall. "I'll have to give the gun a thorough cleaning clean-ing and buy some shells." Emma glared at him. "You can think of more silly excuses." she scoffed. "Now let's hear no more about it. Come Saturday, (here she paused significantly) you're going hunting!" With these Dartins words she bundled up her knitting and stalked haughtily out of the room. As Walter heard her heavy footsteps foot-steps echoing up the stairs he ad-dressed ad-dressed himself to the empty room. "Well, that'i that." He. too, went upstairs to find solace in a good night's sleep. The next day, after work. Walter went up to explore the attic. He found the shotgun standing in a well-cobwebbed corner. It was covered cov-ered with a thick coat of dust, and in spots it had begun to rust. Walter Wal-ter shook his head sadly. Nevertheless, Never-theless, he carried it downstairs and set to work. Emma nodded approval. ap-proval. When he had finished, Walter could not help being a little proud of his efforts. The gun gleamed from the tip of the barrel to the end of the stock. In spite of himself. Walter began to feel somewhat excited. This was his first hunting trip and he intended intend-ed to make it a successful one. On his way home from the office that afternoon he had stopped In at the hardware store to get some hells. The proprietor had been most helpful, Walter thought. Not only had he advised him concerning I the proper type of ammunition, but , he had recommended a particular corn field where, according to him, the rabblU were Incredibly plentiful. plenti-ful. Later that evening, Walter surveyed sur-veyed himself in front of the full-length full-length mirror in the hall. He had donned some khaki trousers which he had bought a year ago at a war surplus store but had never worn. A green Jacket and red cap completed com-pleted his costume. He practiced aiming the gun at Imaginary tar gets, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see the handsome reflection reflec-tion he made in the mirror. Not bad at all, he thought. Emma caught siRht of him through the open doorway as he was preening himself. "My, my." she intoned sarcastically, "aren't you the sportsman, though." Her husband hung his head in silence. A fiery blotch of red appeared at his neck and rose rapidly upward until it covered his countenance. He attempted to beat a hasty retreat, but Emma wasn't finished. "If I were you, Walter Button, I'd wait until I brought home some big game before I started play-act-in' in front of a mirror." This powerful pow-erful verbal blast shook Walter visibly. vis-ibly. Finally he managed to blurt, "I guess I'll go to bed. Got to get up early In the morning." Upstairs he scrambled at a reckless pace. Saturday morning dawned bright and cold. A light snow had fallen. Walter bounded out of bed with unusual un-usual vk'nr U'hpn fhia nlnrm armrwl. ed. "It's a wonderful day to go hunting," he said as he peered out the window. Without waiting to awaken Emma he dressed hurriedly and stole downstairs. Quickly he fixed himself a breakfast break-fast of bacon and eggs and coffee. While he gulped the food he thought about the adventure which lay ahead. Maybe he'd get half a dozen doz-en rabbits! Perhaps a pheasant! Why hadn't he gone hunting before, be-fore, he asked himself. This was a real he-man sport. The sun was Just a weak, red ball 'in the eastern sky as Walter headed his little pre-war coupe toward the city limits. About two miles out, he found the corn field which was to be the scene of his debut es a modern nimrod. He parked the car carefully Just off the road In a little lit-tle grove of trees. He clambered out, laden with shotgun, knapsack, binoculars and a great quantity of shells which were distributed among his pockets. He gave the car door a nudge but it failed to shut. However, How-ever, rather than set down his burdens bur-dens he disregarded it. The snow had stopped. It wouldn't hurt to leave the car door open. Off across the field he started, his head held hii?h and shoulders squared. If only Emma could see him now! The corn field looked extremely long, but Walter wasn't daunted. The bigger the field, the more rabbits rab-bits there would be, he figured with logic. He wondered idly if he'd be able to carry all his furry victims back to the car in one trip. By the time he was half way to the end of the field, the bitterly cold wind had chilled him to the bone. His gun had grown surprisingly heavy and it was an effort to move his feet. But still he plodded on. The corn stalks lay like white branches on the uneven soil. And as yet, no rabbits had appeared. Not a single one. They're probably all down at the end of the field, thought Walter. But at the end of the field, there were no rabbits. Nor did he encounter en-counter any on the way back. When he finally observed the car in the distance, Walter felt as though he hod tramped a thousand miles. "What will I tell Emma?" he asked himself out loud. She would scarcely believe that he hadn't even seen a single rabbit. Instead, she'd accuse him of being a poor shot, or of forgetting to load his gun. Hastily Hast-ily he checked. Yes, it was loaded. If only he would see one rabbit. Just one. Close enough to get a shot. But none appeared. He was nearing the car now. His spirits had fallen to a new low. His footsteps had slowed considerably as he anticipated the tongue lashing lash-ing which awaited him at home. Emma was not always an understanding under-standing wife. The most disconcerting disconcert-ing fact was that this expedition had not been his idea. Emma was responsible but Walter knew that it was he who would suffer. At least he'd get to rest a little as he drove home. He was within a few feet of the car when he stopped dead still. The sight that met his eyes was a remarkable re-markable one. "For gosh sakes!" he exclaimed. Seated on the seat of his car was a rabbit! A real, live rabbit that eyed Walter with surprise, but certainly cer-tainly not with fear. It evidently had hopped In the car through the open door. Walter's hand shook as he raised his gun. This was his big chance, fie told himself. He mustn't muff itt Then he lowered his weapon as he realized that a blast of shot would ruin his car. "I've got to get that bunny out of the car," he muttered. "Then I'll shoot him." His day wouldn't have been spent in vain, after all. Cautiously he inched forward. Mustn't scare the rabbit. "Shoo!" said Walter. The rabbit didn't stir. If anything, it settled down more leisurely on its haunches. This Infuriated Walter. Stepping closer he lunged at the bunny. This time it moved, and fast. But Walter Wal-ter swung into action also. With a Jerky motion he brought the gun to his shoulder. Sighting rapidly, he fired. As he picked himself off the ground he glimpsed the white bob of the rabbit's tall as it bounced unhurt toward the corn field. "There goes my rabbit!" Walter wailed. He stamped upon the ground with rage. Suddenly a sound of escaping es-caping air drew his attention. He gaped with open eyes at his left front tire. It was sinking rapidly. rap-idly. Numerous small holes showed only too clearly what had happened. Walter went to the trunk and brought out a Jack and tire tools. Wearily he sat down on the running board to rest. It had been a trying day. |