thought of how far Toots had come from hitting the target.
"Yes, I'm a good shot," went on the janitor. "But I'm going to improve. I'll practice on the range this winter at odd times. You're a pretty good shot yourself, ain't you?"
"Fair," admitted Dick, as he watched Toots put away the roast turkey and the "fixings."
"A-ker-choo!" suddenly sneezed Toots, pulling out his handkerchief. "Aker-choo-choo! Guess I put too much pepper on my potatoes," he said.
Something fell to the floor, as Toots pulled out his handkerchief. It lay in sight of Dick, who was propped up in bed.
"What's that?" he asked. "You dropped something."
The man picked it up, and Dick saw that it was a marksman's bronze medal.
"Let me see that," he said, quickly, and the janitor passed it over.
"Why this was given to some soldier, for good shooting," went on our hero, as he tried to decipher the name on it. "Where did you get it, Toots?"
"Blessed if I know, Mr. Hamilton. I've had it a long time. It was given to me by some friend, I expect. I found it the other day in my trunk. I'd forgotten I had it. But if it's a marksman's badge, I'm going to wear it. I'm a good shot."
Dick looked more closely at it. Besides the
