And great indeed
was the excitement when Lumsden, in his bluff breezy way, would say:
"Well, here's a vacancy, and I don't for the life of me know which of
you to give it to. Come along down to the rifle-range, and shoot it off
amongst yourselves; the best shot gets the vacancy." And off they would
go to the range, with all their friends and relations to the fifth
generation, and all the partisans in the corps of each competitor:
shooting for the King's Prize at Bisley is a flat and tame proceeding in
comparison with this. And as each shot was fired the friends of the
competitor would yell: "_Shahbash_! Bravo! Well shot! Another bull's
eye! You will win for certain." While rival interests would with equal
emphasis discredit the performance: "This bull's eye was certainly an
accident. God willing he will miss next time. Bravo! let us not lose
heart!"
The demeanour of the winner on such occasions would make a Master in
Lunacy look grave. The happy young fellow would jump into the air,
yelling and pirouetting, brandishing a sword, and at frequent intervals
letting off a gun, nominally into the air, while most of his friends did
likewise, embracing and congratulating him in the intervals. Without
taking a seat amongst the Scribes and Pharisees, it is perhaps
permissible to notice that such a scene as this is in curious contrast
to that to be seen in any French or German country town when lots are
being drawn for conscription.
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