“The prize is mine if none of you do better than that,” laughed Victor, good-naturedly.
“I hope not, for the credit of the club,” said the president. “Mr. Crawford, will you shoot next?”
“I would prefer to be the last,” said Carl, modestly.
“John Livermore, your turn now.”
John came a little nearer than his predecessor, but did not distinguish himself.
“If that is a specimen of the skill of the clubmen,” thought Carl, “my chance is a good one.”
Next came Frank Stockton, whose arrow stuck only three inches from the center of the target.
“Good for Fred!” cried Edward Downie. “Just wait till you see me shoot!”
“Are you a dangerous rival?” asked Carl, smiling.
“I can hit a barn door if I am only near enough,” replied Edward.