“Well,” said Leyden, “I urge you once more to consider my suggestion. Keene hasn’t been given much real work. Start him on the slab to-morrow. If they pound him, pull him off.”
CHAPTER XLI.
SILVER BULLETS.
Mike Lynch dropped into an old curio shop and inspected an old-fashioned powder-and-ball pistol.
“Will it shoot all right?” inquired Mike, as he snapped the weapon.
“Vy, certainly, mine frendt—vy, certainly it vill,” answered the Jew proprietor. “It vos a goot pistol. It vos choost as goot as it efer vos. But you don’t vant it to shoot vid, do you? Most beople buy such dings as a decorations. Dey put dem up on der vall to look ad.”
“That’s what I want it for,” said Mike; “but, still, I want to know that the old thing will really shoot. If it was properly loaded, would it kill anything?”
“Vy, certainly, mine frendt—certainly. Dot pistol vent through der Revolutionary Var. Heer vos der bullet mold dot goes vid it.”
“You don’t say so! Why, I thought they used flintlocks then. This is a percussion cap pistol. Do you suppose I could get any caps to fit it?”
“Right over at der hardware store,” said the old Jew. “You vill find plenty of dem, mine frendt.”
“What’s the price of the pistol and mold?”