Yes, I certainly think you should congratulate me. Now--watch
me hit Sling!" and the Viscount poised his completed dart.
"Captain Slingsby--here?" exclaimed Barnabas, glancing about.
"Under the settee, yonder," nodded the Viscount, "wrapped up in the
table-cloth."
"Table-cloth!" repeated Barnabas.
"By way of military cloak," explained the Viscount. "You see--Sling
was rather--mellow, last night, and--at such times he always imagines
he's campaigning again--insists upon sleeping on the floor."
Now, looking where the Viscount pointed, Barnabas espied the touzled
head of Captain Slingsby of the Guards protruding from beneath the
settee, and reposing upon a cushion. The Captain's features were
serene, and his breathing soft and regular, albeit deepening, ever
and anon, into a gentle snore.
"Poor old Sling!" said the Viscount, leaning forward the better to
aim his missile, "in two hours' time he must go and face the Ogre,
--poor old Sling! Now watch me hit him!" So saying Viscount Devenham
launched his paper dart which, gliding gracefully through the air,
buried its point in the Captain's whisker, whereupon that warrior,
murmuring plaintively, turned over and fell once more gently
a-snoring.
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