THE CALL OF THE STREET 34*1 



at the Brinton Rifle Range in New Jersey. My 

 luck was wonderful and I killed ten birds 

 straight, but one of my competitors did the same. 

 In shooting off the tie he missed his bird and the 

 match was thought to be mine. When the trap 

 was sprung the pigeon flew straight as an arrow 

 toward me. I made a clean miss with my first 

 barrel, but the bird came on swift as a swallow 

 for my face. Again I missed, but as the pigeon 

 was passing me shoulder high like a well deliv- 

 ered baseball I swung for it with my gun and 

 knocked it thirty feet, dead. When I looked 

 around for the applause I thought I had earned 

 I saw members of the club lying on the ground 

 yelling with delight. Of course I claimed the 

 bird which I had killed fairly with my gun, hav- 

 ing violated no rule which we could find. The 

 decision was against me and my partizans 

 claimed my opponent must have had a pull with 

 the umpire, the justice of which the reader can 

 judge. My opponent killed his next bird while I 

 missed two easy shots at mine and the match, the 

 last of its kind I ever shot, was lost to me. 



