Thousands of them
around here, you know. Ever do anything at it?"
"Not in this country," replied Orme. "Sometimes I have taken on a match
at Hurlingham; and we found the Egyptian pigeons around Cairo not bad."
"Would you like to have a little match at our birds?"
"I shouldn't mind."
"Oh, you'll be welcome! We'll take your money away from you. There is
Bardine--or say, Major Westover. Haskins of the Sixth got eighty-five
out of his last hundred. Once he made it ninety-two, but that's above
average, of course."
"You interest me," said Orme, still lazily. "For the honor of my country
I shouldn't mind a go with one of your gentlemen. Make it at a hundred,
for what wagers you like."
"And when?"
"To-morrow afternoon, if you say; I'm not stopping long, I am afraid.
I'm off up river soon."
"Let's see," mused Williams. "Haskins is away, and I doubt if Westover
could come, for he's Officer of the Day, also bottle-washer. And--"
"How about my friend Mr. Cowles?" asked Orme. "My acquaintance with him
makes me think he'd take on any sort of sporting proposition. Do you
shoot, sir?"
"All Virginians do," I answered. And so I did in the field, although I
had never shot or seen a pigeon match in all my life.
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