Aunt Mira’s tearful prayers were not fully answered, not immediately at all events. Westy’s father was “hard on him.” His well advertised prejudice against rifles as “toys” seemed justified in the light of his son’s fall from grace. Westy did not have to incur the perils of a detailed narrative. Mr. Martin, notwithstanding his faith in his son, had always been rather fanatical about this matter of “murderous weapons” even where Westy was concerned. He was very pig-headed, as Westy’s mother often felt constrained to declare, and the mere fact of the killing of the deer was quite enough for a gentleman in his state of mind. Fortunately, he did not prefer a kindly demand for particulars.
“I just did it and I’m not going to make any excuses,” said Westy simply. “I told you I did it because I wouldn’t do a thing like that and not tell you. You can’t say I didn’t come home and tell you the truth.”
The memorable scene occurred in the library of the Martin home, Westy standing near the door ready to make his exit obediently each time his father thundered, “That’s all I’ve got to say.” First and last Mr. Martin said this as many as twenty times. But there seemed always more to say and poor Westy lingered, fending the storm as best he could.
It was the night of his arrival home, his little trunk had been delivered earlier in the day, and on the library table were several rustic mementos of the country which the boy had thought to purchase for his parents and his sister Doris. A plenitude of rosy apples (never forgotten by the homecoming vacationist) were scattered on the sofa where Doris sat sampling one of them. Mrs. Martin sat at the table, a book inverted in her lap. Mr. Martin strode about the room while he talked.
They had all been away and the furniture was still covered with ghostly sheeting. About the only ornaments at large were the little birch bark gewgaws and the imitation bronze ash receptacle which Westy had brought with him. This latter, which seemed to mock the poor boy’s welcome home had Greetings From Chandler printed on it and was for his father.
“And that’s all I’ve got to say,” said Mr. Martin.
“Anyway, I didn’t lie,” said Westy, his eyes brimming.
“I never accused you of lying and I’m not laying all the blame to you either,” thundered his father. “Three and three and three make nine. A boy, a gun, and a wild animal make a killing and that’s all there is to it.”
“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 th............