Word: quails
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...Quail-shooting in Virginia . . . Turkey-shooting in Georgia . . . and then one day he pressed a White House button and scampered away, chuckling boyishly at the seriousness of secret service men. It is not impossible that Calvin Coolidge gave the electric hobbyhorse a tickle in the ribs just before it was packed up and shipped to Northampton, Mass...
...pheasants and wild turkeys slain last week by President Coolidge at Sapeloe (see page 9) were a luxurious but not misleading sample of what the Southeast offers to gunners. Almost anywhere from Virginia to mid-Florida, quail abound. Wild-fowling in the Carolinas-duck, geese, brant-is a sport of moderate temperatures, unlike the cold-blown shooting of northern rivers and bays. When Mr. Hoover visits Mr. Penney at Belle Isle shortly, accounts of Southeastern fishing will doubtless go forth, though the tarpon, greatest of Southeastern game-fish, is caught off Florida's west coast...
...McAlpins, Rockefellers, Drexels, Fords, Carnegies, du Ponts, et al.) have developed Jekyl, St. Simon's and other Golden Islands.* He built a mansion Spanish in style, Southern in rambling scope. He cut bridle paths and motor roads and stocked his forest with pheasants, peacocks, wild turkeys, deer.. Quail, 'possum and waterfowl were there in natural abundance. Through no imaginable chance should the President be "skunked" again on his next shooting foray if he makes it on Sapeloe. Mrs. Coolidge, who likes swimming, will doubtless try the mansion's blue-tiled, glass-domed swimming pool...
...Starling had been out quail-shooting and brought back several birds. The President, in starched collar, yellow necktie, leather waistcoat, green mackinaw coat, riding trousers, laced boots and ten-gallon hat, motored ten miles to a backwoods cabin where a Dr. W. B. Hodge, one Clyde Moorehead and one Wirt Hatcher, practiced gunners, awaited him with four setter dogs. The President patted the dogs, loaded his gun, marched into the scrub-oak and broom-sage. Hosts, guides and detectives followed, gunless...
...went a covey of quail, flushed "wild" by the too-eager dogs. The President raised his gun but did not fire. Soon Flossie, smartest of the setters, whipped into a point. The President walked up and-blam-missed the single bird that whirred away. There were four more points, four more blams. Not a feather was cut. The President went home "skunked." Col. Starling suggested that the trouble was the full-choke bore of the Presidential gun, patterned for trapshooting rather than live game. From the way he shrugged and scowled, it seemed the President blamed his bulky green mackinaw...