I could hit a grouse without any trouble, but this kind of shooting! The best shot in England would be bothered with it." "We'll have a try at the clay pigeons and blackbirds soon," Chickering comfortingly promised.
"But, gwathious, I've twied them, and they're harder to hit than thethe are! I could do better if I could only keep my eyeth open, but the minute I begin to pull the twigger my eyeth go shut, and I can't help it." They had turned round and were retracing their way toward Merriwell and his friends without noticing it.

Suddenly Lew Veazie jumped straight up into the air, clapped a hand smartly against one of his legs, and began to dance a hornpipe.

At almost the same moment a shot was fired by some one.
"Thay, fellowth, I'm thyot!" he gasped, turning deathly pale.

"Honeth, thith ithn't a joke! I'm thyot! Ow! It burnth like fire!" "Where ?" Ollie anxiously asked, staring at the dancing youth, and looking quickly about to make sure that no loaded gun was pointed in his direction.

The others looked about, too.
"This reckless shooting ought to be forbidden!" declared Skelding, regardless of the fact that the shooting he and his friends had been doing was of the most reckless character.