Thus it came about that two of our friends were found at the one hotel of the little town on Pleasant River a few afternoons later when a dudishly dressed city sportsman was exhibiting his rifle to the crowd gathered in the office of the hotel. Hans was in bed, attended for the time by Hodge; Diamond was out strolling around the village, while Frank and Bruce were admiring the rifle of the dude in the hotel office.
Sitting on a chair near at hand, languidly inhaling the smoke of a cigarette, was the companion of the fellow who owned the rifle. He also was a dudish-looking sportsman, and his friend called him “Cholly.” He had registered as H. Charles Gates. The other chap had registered as Archie Elmer.
“This wifle is not satisfactowy,” drawled Elmer.
“Did you say the rifle is not satisfactory?” asked Frank, in surprise.
“Ya-as,” drawled Archie.
“What is the matter with it?”
“Well, weally, to tell the twuth, it doesn’t shoot as well as I had evrwy weason to expect it would.”
“Oh, is that it? Who did the shooting with it?”
“I did, awve course, thir! Do you suppose I would allow evwybody to shoot my wifle?”