“Do you recognize the big toad-sticker?” queried Malloy.
Ned doubtfully shook his head. Malloy obligingly handed it to him.
“Look at it an’ heft it. It’s the general’s. Thought mebbe you’d seen it hanging on his wall. ’Tis one captured in the War; an’ the noise of the grinding sort o’ reminded him he wanted it whetted up. ‘Malloy,’ said he, ‘polish that big scalping knife o’ mine along with the rest of ’em.’”
“Can you swing it?” bantered the other soldier.
Ned lifted the sabre and examined it. It was as long as he was tall; was far longer and heavier than regulation. On the bright blade were letters engraved:
Do not draw me without cause;
Do not sheathe me without honor.
What a sword! No, Ned could not swing it. He handed it back.
“That’s a real Damascus steel, they say,” informed Malloy’s helper.
“Is the general going to take it on the march?” asked Ned, expectantly.