had never shot or seen a pigeon match in all my life.

"Precisely. Mrs. Stevenson, will you allow this sort of talk?"

"Go on, go on," said Kitty. "I'll have something up myself on Mr.
Cowles." ("Don't let him scare you, Jack," she whispered to me aside.)

That was a foolish speech of hers, and a foolish act of mine. But for my
part, I continually found myself doing things I should not do.

Orme passed his cigarette case. "In view of my possibly greater
experience," he said, "I'd allow Mr. Cowles six in the hundred."

"I am not looking for matches," said I, my blood kindling at his
accustomed insolence; "but if I shot it would be both men at scratch."

"Oh, very well," smiled Orme. "And should we make a little wager about
it--I ask your consent, Mrs. Stevenson?"

"America forever!" said Kitty.

What could I do after that? But all at once I thought of my scanty purse
and of the many troubles that beset me, and the strange unfitness in one
of my present situation engaging in any such talk. In spite of that, my
stubborn blood had its way as usual.

"My war chest is light," I answered, "as I am farther away from home
than I had planned. But you know my black horse, Mr. Orme, that you
fancied?"