guy,” Charlie Crunch said, laughing out loud.
Nilly pulled a big, smooth bill out of his pants pocket and slapped it on the counter.
“I guess I do take money from little pipsqueaks after all,” Charlie Crunch said, and then laughed loudly. “Let’s play darts.”
NILLY AND CHARLIE Crunch took their positions a little over seven feet from the face of the dartboard (to be totally accurate: seven feet, nine and one-quarter inches, which,
according to the World Darts Federation, is the recognized standard distance, after all). The other pub patrons clustered around them and watched attentively as Charlie squinted one eye shut, aimed
with the dart pinched between his index finger and his thumb—and threw.
THUNK!
The onlookers cheered. The dart had pierced the field that said twenty. It was the highest number on the board. But Charlie’s dart was sort of on the outside.
Nilly stepped up to the line.
“You’re going to throw with a
mitten
on your hand?” Charlie scoffed.
Nilly didn’t respond. He just aimed for the red dot right in the middle of the board. Bent his arm back. And threw.
THUNK!
The dart stood there quivering, as close to the middle of the board as you could possibly get.
“Ha-ha!” Nilly cried. “Eat dust, Charlie Crunch, now you’re the NEXT BEST dart player this side of the Thames!”
“Don’t you even know the rules, little guy?” Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow. “That only gives you fifty points. My dart hit the triple twenty part, which makes
sixty.”
“Huh?” Nilly responded. “Oh yeah. Of course I knew that. I . . . uh, just wanted to give you a little head start to make things exciting.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, taking his position and throwing.
THUNK!
Another triple twenty.
Nilly leaned over and whispered to one of the people watching, a man in a sixpence cap with no front teeth, “Little bit of a brain fart here, um. What’s the most points you can get
in one throw again?”
“Triple twenty,” the toothless man said.
“Of course,” Nilly said, and aimed. And threw.
THUNK!
His dart landed right next to Charlie Crunch’s two.
“Triple twenty!” the audience cheered. Charlie had 120, Nilly had 110.
But before the cheers had died down, Charlie stepped up and threw, and his dart landed so close to his first two that all three darts quivered together for a bit.
“Triple twenty!” the audience cried. Charlie raised both hands over his head and accepted the audience’s cheers.
Nilly stepped up and aimed.
“You don’t need to throw,” the toothless guy said. “There’s no way you can get as many points as—”
But Nilly had already thrown. His dart landed on the triple twenty, and so close to the other darts this time that one of them fell out and dropped to the floor.
A murmur ran through the crowd.
“All right, all right,” Nilly said, pulling the bill out of his pocket and passing it to Charlie, who was staring at him, his face bright red.
“Are you trying to piss me off, little guy?” Charlie snarled.
“Huh?” Nilly looked innocently up at Charlie, who looked like he was thinking about strangling Nilly.
“You won!” the toothless man whispered into Nilly’s ear. “The dart that fell down was his. That means he loses those points. Do you
really
not know the
rules?”
“No, but seriously, Charlie,” Nilly said. “I was just wondering if you could break a two-hundred pound note for me. So I could buy you a drink.”
Charlie Crunch cocked his head to the side and said, “Something’s not right here. This guy doesn’t know the rules, and yet he plays darts like a world champion. No, better than
a world champion. Wearing a mitten!” Charlie grabbed Nilly by the hair, picked him straight up, and held him out in front of himself at arm’s length. “Who are you really? How did
you know I’d be here? Are you—”
He was interrupted by a remarkably Scottish-sounding cry from one of the tables in the very
Nilly pulled a big, smooth bill out of his pants pocket and slapped it on the counter.
“I guess I do take money from little pipsqueaks after all,” Charlie Crunch said, and then laughed loudly. “Let’s play darts.”
NILLY AND CHARLIE Crunch took their positions a little over seven feet from the face of the dartboard (to be totally accurate: seven feet, nine and one-quarter inches, which,
according to the World Darts Federation, is the recognized standard distance, after all). The other pub patrons clustered around them and watched attentively as Charlie squinted one eye shut, aimed
with the dart pinched between his index finger and his thumb—and threw.
THUNK!
The onlookers cheered. The dart had pierced the field that said twenty. It was the highest number on the board. But Charlie’s dart was sort of on the outside.
Nilly stepped up to the line.
“You’re going to throw with a
mitten
on your hand?” Charlie scoffed.
Nilly didn’t respond. He just aimed for the red dot right in the middle of the board. Bent his arm back. And threw.
THUNK!
The dart stood there quivering, as close to the middle of the board as you could possibly get.
“Ha-ha!” Nilly cried. “Eat dust, Charlie Crunch, now you’re the NEXT BEST dart player this side of the Thames!”
“Don’t you even know the rules, little guy?” Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow. “That only gives you fifty points. My dart hit the triple twenty part, which makes
sixty.”
“Huh?” Nilly responded. “Oh yeah. Of course I knew that. I . . . uh, just wanted to give you a little head start to make things exciting.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, taking his position and throwing.
THUNK!
Another triple twenty.
Nilly leaned over and whispered to one of the people watching, a man in a sixpence cap with no front teeth, “Little bit of a brain fart here, um. What’s the most points you can get
in one throw again?”
“Triple twenty,” the toothless man said.
“Of course,” Nilly said, and aimed. And threw.
THUNK!
His dart landed right next to Charlie Crunch’s two.
“Triple twenty!” the audience cheered. Charlie had 120, Nilly had 110.
But before the cheers had died down, Charlie stepped up and threw, and his dart landed so close to his first two that all three darts quivered together for a bit.
“Triple twenty!” the audience cried. Charlie raised both hands over his head and accepted the audience’s cheers.
Nilly stepped up and aimed.
“You don’t need to throw,” the toothless guy said. “There’s no way you can get as many points as—”
But Nilly had already thrown. His dart landed on the triple twenty, and so close to the other darts this time that one of them fell out and dropped to the floor.
A murmur ran through the crowd.
“All right, all right,” Nilly said, pulling the bill out of his pocket and passing it to Charlie, who was staring at him, his face bright red.
“Are you trying to piss me off, little guy?” Charlie snarled.
“Huh?” Nilly looked innocently up at Charlie, who looked like he was thinking about strangling Nilly.
“You won!” the toothless man whispered into Nilly’s ear. “The dart that fell down was his. That means he loses those points. Do you
really
not know the
rules?”
“No, but seriously, Charlie,” Nilly said. “I was just wondering if you could break a two-hundred pound note for me. So I could buy you a drink.”
Charlie Crunch cocked his head to the side and said, “Something’s not right here. This guy doesn’t know the rules, and yet he plays darts like a world champion. No, better than
a world champion. Wearing a mitten!” Charlie grabbed Nilly by the hair, picked him straight up, and held him out in front of himself at arm’s length. “Who are you really? How did
you know I’d be here? Are you—”
He was interrupted by a remarkably Scottish-sounding cry from one of the tables in the very
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