“No,” he said, smiling, “a tooth-brush. The bone handle made the bullet glance so that instead of going through, it went around and did nothing worse than scrape a few ribs.”
She looked at him wonderingly for a moment and then dropped her eyes.
“Would you like to see it?” he asked.
“The tooth-brush,” she queried, “or the bullet?”
“No, the picture,” he said, laughing.
“Yes,” she answered.
He fumbled in his breast-pocket and brought out a worn leather card-case. He opened it and produced an envelop. From the envelop he took a small, unmounted photograph and handed it to the girl.
She studied it in silence and a smile broke over her face. “Isn’t it funny of Agnes?” she asked. “She doesn’t seem to have any nose.”
“That’s so,” he said. “Do you make out Ann, next to George in the stern sheets?”