Orme shook hands with me, and
declared that he was feeling well, although Williams laughingly
announced that he had not been able to make his man go to bed for more
than an hour that morning, or to keep him from eating and drinking
everything he could lay his hands upon. Yet now his eye was bright, his
skin firm, his step light and easy. That the man had a superb
constitution was evident, and I knew that my work was cut out for me,
for Orme, whatever his profession, was an old one at the game of speedy
going. As a man I disliked and now suspected him. As an opponent at any
game one was obliged to take account of him.
"What boundary do we use, gentlemen?" Orme asked, as he looked out over
the field. This question showed his acquaintance, but none the less his
confidence and his courtesy as well, for in closely made matches all
details are carefully weighed before the issue is joined. "I am more
used to the Monaco bounds of eighteen yards," he added, "but whatever is
your custom here will please me. I only want to have a notion of your
sport."
"Our races here have usually been shot at fifty yards bounds," said
Stevenson.
"As you like," said Orme, "if that pleases Mr.
Pages:
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106