said, and this is my sister Abigail.’
The young man nodded. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’
Abbie murmured a greeting then took a step away, preparing to move on. But the young man forestalled her.
‘I was just about to try my own fortune with the rifles,’ he said. ‘Maybe if you stay around for a minute longer you’ll bring me luck.’ Then, without waiting for a response, he turned to the sideshow proprietor and handed him some coppers.
The girls – with Abbie showing a little impatience – stepped to one side while the young man set the coconut down at his feet and picked up one of the rifles. At the same time the sideshow holder, with a practised flourish, stuck a little paper target on to the board. ‘Five shots,’ he said as he stepped back. ‘Four of ’em in the bull or in the inner ring gets you the pick of the prizes.’
Louis Randolph raised the rifle to his shoulder, took careful aim and fired. The lead pellet went thwuck into the upper left outer rim of the target. ‘Darn it,’ he said, frowning. ‘It fires high and to the left.’ He reloaded the gun and bent again. There came the sound of the gun’s report and the second slug appeared just inside the ring that encircled the bull’s-eye.
‘He did it,’ breathed Beatie, to which Abbie said drily, ‘Yes, once. He’s got to do it three more times yet.’
Hearing her words, the young man turned and looked at her over his shoulder. ‘How right you are, Miss.’ He reloaded, took aim again, and this time the pellet whacked right into the target’s bull’s-eye. ‘Two to go,’ he murmured and briefly raised his eyes to heaven in a silent little prayer.
He loaded the gun a fourth time, took careful aim and fired again. And another pellet appeared in the target’s inner circle. He breathed a sigh of relief and reloaded the gun. About to take aim, he hesitated, turned to the girls and asked, ‘Do you wish me luck?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ Beatie replied.
He nodded his thanks then said to Abbie, ‘And what about you, Miss Abigail? Do you wish me luck too?’
‘I’m sure I do if it will help you,’ she said.
He gave a little frown. ‘No – no, say it.’
Abbie smiled. ‘Good luck.’
He grinned at her, raised the rifle, took careful aim and fired.
‘You won!’ Abbie cried against Beatie’s words of approval and congratulation. She could hardly believe the sight of the slugs embedded in the target – two in the inner circle and two right in the bull’s-eye.
As Louis straightened and laid down the rifle, the sideshow owner said, ‘Well, now you best choose your prize. What’ll it be? The two vawses – made of genu-ine ‘and-cut crystal? Or mebbe the pair of genu-ine Staffordshire dogs, ‘and-painted by artists?’ He pointed to a shaving set with razor, brush and mug. ‘Or mebbe this fine set, young sir . . .’ He turned his attention to the spectators. ‘There y’are, ladies and gentlemen – you can see as the prizes can be won all right. All this young gen’leman’s got to do now is choose.’
Louis stood there for a moment, then turned to Beatie. ‘Now don’t take this amiss,’ he said, ‘but I’d like to give you a wedding present.’
‘Oh, no!’ she protested. ‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘Please,’ he said. ‘And if you won’t choose then I’ll have to choose something for you – and I know I’d go and pick the wrong thing.’
‘No,’ Beatie said, ‘you must choose something for yourself – or for your mother.’
‘I haven’t got a mother. Nor a sister – nor a young lady for that matter.’ He grinned. ‘Come on, what’ll it be?’
‘Go on,’ Abbie urged Beatie, giving her a little nudge, ‘choose.’
Beatie was almost hopping with happiness and excitement. ‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Why should you do this for me?’
‘Because I want to. Just say what it’ll be.’
After a moment’s hesitation Beatie pointed to one of the shelves. ‘Oh – the
The young man nodded. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’
Abbie murmured a greeting then took a step away, preparing to move on. But the young man forestalled her.
‘I was just about to try my own fortune with the rifles,’ he said. ‘Maybe if you stay around for a minute longer you’ll bring me luck.’ Then, without waiting for a response, he turned to the sideshow proprietor and handed him some coppers.
The girls – with Abbie showing a little impatience – stepped to one side while the young man set the coconut down at his feet and picked up one of the rifles. At the same time the sideshow holder, with a practised flourish, stuck a little paper target on to the board. ‘Five shots,’ he said as he stepped back. ‘Four of ’em in the bull or in the inner ring gets you the pick of the prizes.’
Louis Randolph raised the rifle to his shoulder, took careful aim and fired. The lead pellet went thwuck into the upper left outer rim of the target. ‘Darn it,’ he said, frowning. ‘It fires high and to the left.’ He reloaded the gun and bent again. There came the sound of the gun’s report and the second slug appeared just inside the ring that encircled the bull’s-eye.
‘He did it,’ breathed Beatie, to which Abbie said drily, ‘Yes, once. He’s got to do it three more times yet.’
Hearing her words, the young man turned and looked at her over his shoulder. ‘How right you are, Miss.’ He reloaded, took aim again, and this time the pellet whacked right into the target’s bull’s-eye. ‘Two to go,’ he murmured and briefly raised his eyes to heaven in a silent little prayer.
He loaded the gun a fourth time, took careful aim and fired again. And another pellet appeared in the target’s inner circle. He breathed a sigh of relief and reloaded the gun. About to take aim, he hesitated, turned to the girls and asked, ‘Do you wish me luck?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ Beatie replied.
He nodded his thanks then said to Abbie, ‘And what about you, Miss Abigail? Do you wish me luck too?’
‘I’m sure I do if it will help you,’ she said.
He gave a little frown. ‘No – no, say it.’
Abbie smiled. ‘Good luck.’
He grinned at her, raised the rifle, took careful aim and fired.
‘You won!’ Abbie cried against Beatie’s words of approval and congratulation. She could hardly believe the sight of the slugs embedded in the target – two in the inner circle and two right in the bull’s-eye.
As Louis straightened and laid down the rifle, the sideshow owner said, ‘Well, now you best choose your prize. What’ll it be? The two vawses – made of genu-ine ‘and-cut crystal? Or mebbe the pair of genu-ine Staffordshire dogs, ‘and-painted by artists?’ He pointed to a shaving set with razor, brush and mug. ‘Or mebbe this fine set, young sir . . .’ He turned his attention to the spectators. ‘There y’are, ladies and gentlemen – you can see as the prizes can be won all right. All this young gen’leman’s got to do now is choose.’
Louis stood there for a moment, then turned to Beatie. ‘Now don’t take this amiss,’ he said, ‘but I’d like to give you a wedding present.’
‘Oh, no!’ she protested. ‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘Please,’ he said. ‘And if you won’t choose then I’ll have to choose something for you – and I know I’d go and pick the wrong thing.’
‘No,’ Beatie said, ‘you must choose something for yourself – or for your mother.’
‘I haven’t got a mother. Nor a sister – nor a young lady for that matter.’ He grinned. ‘Come on, what’ll it be?’
‘Go on,’ Abbie urged Beatie, giving her a little nudge, ‘choose.’
Beatie was almost hopping with happiness and excitement. ‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Why should you do this for me?’
‘Because I want to. Just say what it’ll be.’
After a moment’s hesitation Beatie pointed to one of the shelves. ‘Oh – the
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