It
was not to be borne.
Pepton in particular felt greatly outraged. We had met
very promptly that afternoon, and had finished our regular
shooting much earlier than usual; and now a knot of us were
gathered together, talking over this unfortunate occurrence.
"I don't intend to stand it," Pepton suddenly exclaimed. "I
feel it as a personal disgrace. I'm going to have the champion
here before dark. By the rules, he has a right to shoot until
the president declares it is too late. Some of you fellows stay
here, and I'll bring him."
And away he ran, first giving me charge of his precious bow.
There was no need of his asking us to stay. We were bound to see
the fun out, and to fill up the time our president offered a
special prize of a handsome bouquet from his gardens, to be shot
for by the ladies.
Pepton ran to the railroad station, and telegraphed to the
champion. This was his message:
"You are absolutely needed here. If possible, take the five-
thirty train for Ackford. I will drive over for you. Answer."
There was no train before the six-fifteen by which the
champion could come directly to our village; but Ackford, a small
town about three miles distant, was on another railroad, on which
there were frequent afternoon trains.
The champion answered:
"All right. Meet me."
Then Pepton rushed to our livery stable, hired a horse and
buggy, and drove to Ackford.
A little after half-past six, when several of us were
beginning to think that Pepton had failed in his plans, he
drove rapidly into the grounds, making a very short turn at the
gate, and pulled up his panting horse just in time to avoid
running over three ladies, who were seated on the grass.
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