"The outer ring," said Shep Reed. "That's not so bad but what it might be worse, Giant."
"Oh, it might be worse!" answered the small youth, coolly. "I might fire out of the window and kill somebody on the back street, or hit a duck in Rackson's pond. Here goes again."
The second shot was a little better, and the third made the bell ring, much to the small youth's delight.
"Hullo, you fellows!" came from the doorway, a lively boy of fourteen came in, curly hair dying and a cap set far back on his head. "Been looking for you all over town for about sixteen hours. Been shooting, eh? I'll bet a can of buttermilk against a shoestring that you all made outer rings."
"Hullo, Whopper!" called the others. "Come in and try your luck."
"Can't—-I'm dead broke this morning," answered Frank Dawson.
"I've got to wait a year or two till my next allowance comes in."
"Here's the money," answered Charley Dodge, producing five cents.
"Now, Whopper, don't make more than three bull's-eyes."
"I'm going to make twenty-'leven," answered the boy called Whopper. "Don't you know that I once went into a gallery in the city and made one hundred bull's-eyes in succession? The proprietor fainted and didn't get over it for two months."
"Phew! That's the biggest whopper yet!" ejaculated Giant. "Nothing like living up to your reputation."
The boy who could tell big stories on all occasions took up the rifle and shot three times with care, and as a result placed three inner rings to his credit.