James A. Frye, Fables of Field and Staff
“ Pollard’s last bullet was speeding its way across the two hundred yards of snow. And in a moment the white disk crept into sight—but not on Pollard’s target! Bullseye though the shot was, it could be scored only as a miss.“Da’—thunderation!” yelled Pollard, giving an exhibition of realistic acting sufficiently fine to have made Salvini faint dead away, could he have seen it. “Oh, glory! I’m on the wrong target—and there goes the blooming old cup! Kerwick’s score outranks. What luck! Oh, what infernal luck!” ”
