"You interest me," said Orme, still lazily. "For the honor of my country I shouldn't mind a go with one of your gentlemen. Make it at a hundred, for what wagers you like."
"And when?"
"To-morrow afternoon, if you say; I'm not stopping long, I am afraid. I'm off up river soon."
"Let's see," mused Williams. "Haskins is away, and I doubt if Westover could come, for he's Officer of the Day, also bottle-washer. And—"
"How about my friend Mr. Cowles?" asked Orme. "My acquaintance with him makes me think he'd take on any sort of sporting proposition. Do you shoot, sir?"
"All Virginians do," I answered. And so I did in the field, although I 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."