"Maybe," was the cautious response, "but what's that to you, sir? I an't shot anything belonging to you, have I?"
"No, no! I daresay you've had some of my grandfather's game, though! Oh, it doesn't matter to me if you have or not! What I want to know is whether your gun is a breech-loader or a muzzle-loader?"
Bill Coysh looked extremely surprised at this question. He opened his eyes and his mouth too, but he made no reply.
"Because if it's a breech-loader, of course you fire it with cartridges," Lionel proceeded; "but if it's a muzzle-loader I thought you might possibly keep a stock of powder and shot, and I wondered if you'd feel inclined to sell me some!"
A crafty expression crossed Bill Coysh's face upon hearing this, and a particularly shrewd gleam came into the small gray eyes, which, set near together, close to his nose, were not pleasant to look into.
"My gun's a breech-loader," he said slowly.
"Oh, what a pity!" exclaimed Lionel in much disappointment, his countenance falling perceptibly.
"But that's not to say I don't keep a small stock o' powder and shot," the other continued. "What's to prevent my filling my cartridges myself, eh? I might be able to supply them as is ready to pay for what they require!" —and the lanky youth grinned broadly again.
"Oh, of course I will pay you if you will supply me with some ammunition!" Lionel cried eagerly.
"What do you want it for?" Bill Coysh questioned. "I can't let you get me into trouble, you know!"