When someone in the next bar threw it over the partition again, he realized what had happened and, turning to the company with a sickly smile, remarked: 'I ain't got properly used to this board yet: that's the reason of it.' He now began throwing the other rings at the board rather wildly, without troubling to take aim.

One struck the partition to the right of the board: one to the left: one underneath: one went over the counter, one on the floor, the other--the last--hit the board, and amid a shout of applause, caught on the centre hook No.

13, the highest number it was possible to scare with a single throw.
'I shall be all right now that I've got the range,' observed the Semi-drunk as he made way for his opponent.
'You'll see something now,' whispered Philpot to Easton.

'This bloke is a dandy!' The Besotted Wretch took up his position and with an affectation of carelessness began throwing the rings.

It was really a remarkable exhibition, for notwithstanding the fact that his hand trembled like the proverbial aspen leaf, he succeeded in striking the board almost in the centre every time; but somehow or other most of them failed to catch on the hooks and fell into the net.