"I am more used to the Monaco bounds of eighteen yards," he added, "but whatever is your custom here will please me.

I only want to have a notion of your sport." "Our races here have usually been shot at fifty yards bounds," said Stevenson.
"As you like," said Orme, "if that pleases Mr.Cowles." "Perfectly," said I, who indeed knew little about the matter.
Orme stepped over to the coops where the birds were kept--splendid, iridescent creatures, with long tails, clean, gamy heads and all the colors of the rainbow on their breasts.

"By Jove!" he said, "they're rippers for looks, and they should fly a bit, I'm thinking.

I have never seen them before, much less shot a race at them." "Still your advantage," said I, laughing, "for I never shot a race at any sort in my life." "And yet you match against me?
My dear fellow, I hardly like--" "The match is made, Captain Orme, and I am sure Mr.Cowles would not ask for any readjustment," commented Stevenson stiffly.
"Don't understand me to wish to urge anything," said Orme.

"I only wish it so we shall all have a chance at revenge.