“It won’t amount to much, boys,” George observed, “because, you know, wet gunpowder has lost most of its virtue.”
“Why, how’s that?” Charles demanded. “Where did you find out that? Why, gunpowder hasn’t any virtue, anyhow.”
“No, of course not, what has powder to do with virtue?” Will chimed in.
“I tell you it has; don’t contradict folks that know!” the sage indignantly retorted. “Don’t you remember, John Hoyt, on that island, wasn’t afraid of being blown up, because he knew the powder had lost its virtue?”
“Y-e-s,” Charles reluctantly assented, “but I never could understand how John knew that, when he’d always lived on that island, and never seen or heard of powder before.”
“I don’t understand that, either,” said George; “but John was right; he knew—or if he didn’t, the man that wrote the book did!”
That settled the question; the Sage had triumphed.
At length everything was arranged to the plotters’ satisfaction, and the Sage was detailed to fire the train.
“You won’t see much of the fun, George,” said Charles; “but you will understand the business. I never knew you to bungle anything; don’t bungle this.”
“You can’t expect much from wet gunpowder, but if you do your part as well as I intend to do mine, all right!” George replied with spirit.