slaughter, and it sickened him. However, if the creatures were not
shot, they must inevitably perish in the winter snows; and he had
heard that Robbie sent the game to the hospitals. Also, the score
was being kept, and Miss Vincent, who was something of a shot
herself, was watching him with eager excitement, being wild with
desire to beat out Billy Price and Chappie de Peyster, who were the
champion shots of the company. Baby de Mille, who was on his left,
and who could not shoot at all, was blundering along, puffing for
breath and eyeing him enviously; and the attendants at his back were
trembling with delight and murmuring their applause. So he shot on,
as long as the drive lasted, and again on their way back, over a new
stretch of the country. Sometimes the birds would rise in pairs, and
he would drop them both; and twice when a blundering flock took
flight in his direction he seized a second gun and brought down a
second pair. When the day's sport came to an end his score was
fifteen better than his nearest competitor, and he and his partner
had won the day.

They crowded round to congratulate him; first his partner, and then
his rivals, and his host and hostess. Montague found that he had
suddenly become a person of consequence. Some who had previously
taken no notice of him now became aware of his existence; proud
society belles condescended to make conversation with him, and
Clarrie Mason, who hated de Peyster, made note of a way to annoy
him. As for Oliver, he was radiant with delight. "When it came to
horses and guns, I knew you'd make good," he whispered.

Leaving the game to be gathered up in carts, they made their way
home, and there the two victors received their prizes. The man's
consisted of a shaving set in a case of solid gold, set with