"Yes, but I didn't bargain for yours being off your shoulders."
"Well, what with bunnies, cartridges, and the Blue Cow, and the other extras, he is about cleaned out now."
"Cleaned out!" said Acton, with intense irritation. "That's not what I wanted. I told you distinctly that I must have him five pounds deep at the least. How can I engineer my schemes if my sharpers can't cut? You'll look blue, Raffles, when I settle your account, take my word for it."
"Not quite so quick off the mark, Mr. Acting. What do you value this piece of ironmongery at?"
Raffles fished up the gun which had burst in Jack's hands that afternoon from behind the corn-chest, and held it up to the light.
"A burst gun!" said Acton. "It's worth throwing away; no more."
"It was worth this morning, say fifteen bob, before Bourne blew its ribs out."
"Jove!" said Acton, "let me handle the thing." He looked at the torn breech, and whistled with involuntary horror. "Much of a squeak, Raffles?"
"Touch and go, sir. He'll never be nearer pegging out than he was this afternoon; for he scraped the gates of his family buryin'-place, in a manner of speakin.' It went clean through his hat—rim and crown."
"Did he know his luck?"