Now I confess. I had played horseshoes exactly once, one week before, at my office summer picnic. And even then I’d been taught by someone who seemed to be making it up as he went. So with a complete lack of care I just made up whatever seemed fun. I knew about ringers, and the cliche about being close, and I may or may not have been fudging when I had special rules for leaners, danglers, sliders, burrowing bees, hellsmount footpads, and one special combination I liked to call a “reverse Mormon.”
All the same it was a good time, both our spirits brightened, and when Langston finally beat me 24a to seventy-blue, we agreed neither of us had had such fun since the Great Wumpus Rumpus of ought-four.