“And I tell you,” said Philo Gubb sternly, “that I can’t shoot you whilst you’re rubbing your nose right into this gun. Go back there where I can shoot you.”
“I won’t!” said Mr. Witzel angrily.
Philo Gubb was slow to anger, but he was sorely pressed now, and his temper failed him.
“Look here,” he said to Mr. Witzel. “If you don’t go back where I can get a shot at you, I’ll—I’ll smack you on the face.”
“If you shoot off that gun, and bust it,” said Mr. Witzel, with equal anger, “I’ll—I’ll hit you on the head.”
“Go back!” cried Philo Gubb menacingly. “One!”
“I’ll give you fifty dollars for that gun, just as she is,” said Mr. Witzel.
“Two!” said Mr. Gubb.
“Sixty dollars!” said Mr. Witzel.
“Th—” said the paper-hanger detective, stepping backward to get room to sight along the long barrel. Unfortunately the trunk was just behind him and as he stepped back he tripped over it and fell backward, doubling up like a jack-knife. But he kept his presence of mind. The long barrel of the Briggs & Bolton protruded from between the soles of Philo Gubb’s feet in Mr. Witzel’s direction.