Altogether he scored nineteen; and the gallery, full of
congratulations, moved on to inspect the performance of Private Budge,
an extremely nervous subject: who, thanks to the fact that public
attention had been concentrated so far upon Lindsay, and that his
ministering sergeant was a matter-of-fact individual of few words, had
put on two bulls--eight points. He now required to score only nine
points in three shots.
Suddenly the hapless youth became aware of the breathless group in his
rear. He promptly pulled his trigger, and just nicked the outside edge
of the target--two points.
"I doot I'm gettin' a thing nairvous," he muttered apologetically to
the sergeant.
"Havers! Shut your held and give the bull a bash!" responded that
admirable person.
The twitching Budge, bracing himself, scored an inner--three points.
"A bull, and we do it!" murmured Bobby Little. Fortunately Budge did
not hear.
"Ye're no daen badly," admitted the sergeant grudgingly.
Budge, a little piqued, determined to do better. He raised his
foresight slowly; took the first pull; touched "six o'clock" on the
distant bull--luckily the light was perfect--and took the second pull
for the last time.
Next moment a white disc rose slowly out of the earth and covered the
bull's-eye.
So Bobby Little was able next morning to congratulate his disciples
upon being "the best-shooting platoon in the best-shooting Company in
the best-shooting Battalion in the Brigade.
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