“Fife tollars.”
“I’ll give you a dollar.”
“Oh, mine cootness! Do you vant to rob me? I pay four tollar for dat pistol.”
“All I have is a dollar,” said Mike, taking out a bill. “Here it is. Take it or not just as you please.”
“Cootn’t you make it two tollar?” whined the old Jew. “I vill lose money on it at dot, but I vant to get rid of it.”
“Take it or not,” repeated Mike, waving the dollar bill in front of the shopkeeper’s face.
He got the pistol and left with it in his pocket. Visiting the hardware store, he secured a box of caps and a small supply of powder. In the hardware store Lynch found a tinsmith to whom he made a most peculiar proposition.
“Do you see this?” said Mike, producing the bullet mold. “I want you to mold me a few silver bullets.”
The tinsmith gazed at him in surprise.
“Silver bullets?” he questioned doubtfully. “Why aren’t lead bullets good enough?”