"See it!" said I, "why not? Try it and you will find your
sight improve with your shooting. Now, I can't boast of
being a good marksman myself; my studies" (and here I
looked big, for I doubted if he could even read, much
less construe a chapter in the Greek Testament) "did not
leave me much time. A squirrel is too small an object
for all but an experienced man, but a "_large_" mark like
a quart bottle can easily be hit at a hundred yards--that
is nothing."

"I will take you a bet," said he, "of a doubloon, you do
not do it again?"

"Thank you," I replied with great indifference: "I never
bet, and besides, that gun has so injured my shoulder,
that I could not, if I would."

By that accidental shot, I obtained a great name as a
marksman, and by prudence I retained it all the voyage.
This is precisely my case now, gentle reader. I made an
accidental hit with the Clockmaker: when he ceases to
speak, I shall cease to write. The little reputation I
then acquired, I do not intend to jeopardize by trying
too many experiments. I know that it was chance--many
people think it was skill. If they choose to think so,
they have a right to their opinion, and that opinion is
fame. I value this reputation too highly not to take
care of it.