"Go to the box-office and get a new one," said Thrall. "There's a bundle of them in the drawer. Barney will give you one."
"No! no!" irritably replied Jim. "I want the one I've been using! I hate a new chamois; besides, how the devil could the thing disappear! I used it on that 'bulldog' of yours a while ago. You're a nice man to own a fine revolver like that, and let it get spotted and ate into with rust. You ought to carry a bargain-counter ninety-nine-and-a-half-cent sort of shooting-iron."
Thrall laughed good-temperedly, and, picking up the revolver, said: "Well, you have cleaned and polished and oiled the old thing up in great shape." He stood looking down at the weapon, whose white ivory handle and heavily nickled barrel and trimmings took nothing from its threatening look. Short, thick, heavy, the three-inch double barrel and the wide ugly muzzle were so suggestive that Thrall exclaimed: "By Jove! it's well named, for the bulldog is just what it reminds one of."
"Yes," answered Jim, still searching for the mislaid chamois; "that's a dog whose bark is not worse than his bite. Be a little careful, will you! That's a mighty easy trigger, and something less than ten-horse power will cock the thing full. Oh, damn! damn! where is that chamois?"
How cruel is the despotism of trifling circumstance! It is humiliating to think that a life's career—nay, even more than that—hung upon the finding or the losing of a dirty bit of leather!
Thrall "broke" the revolver to look at the cartridges, somehow expecting to see new ones, and remarked: "Oh, you've returned the old cartridges, I see?"
"Yes," replied Jim, fretfully; "but what of it? I haven't get any new 32s on hand, but the old ones will bore holes in a man that will serve every purpose. I wish I had an old silk handkerchief to polish this inlaid work with." And just then they heard the rustling of skirts, the tap of heels, and Sybil was in the room.
Jim Roberts looked up, and, at sight of her white face and frightened eyes, his own expression changed so swiftly that Thrall was startled. The latter turned, and, in the instant of recognition, the thought flashed through him that, as Sybil had come without appointment, Barney, unwarned, might send anyone here that asked for him; and he said, surprisedly, even a little sharply: "Good heaven, child, what are you doing here?" and the girl moaned:
"Oh, Stewart! Stewart! the message! the awful message!" and crept to him and hid her face on his arm.
Roberts, weak and trembling, and with glaring eyes, made his way out, muttering something about "going to the office." Outside he held his head hard between his hands and leaned against the wall for support. "It's come," he said, "at last! Oh, damn him! It's so awfully sudden, too, but that's him all over—his love flaming sky-high one moment and black out the next!"