On the other he read—
"LAST SMALL REPUBLIC ANNEXED.
NICARAGUAN CAPITAL SURRENDERS AFTER A MONTH'S FIGHTING.
GREAT SLAUGHTER."
Wayne bent over them again, evidently puzzled; then he looked at the dates. They were both dated in August fifteen years before.
"Why do you keep these old things?" he said, startled entirely out of his absurd tact of mysticism. "Why do you hang them outside your shop?"
"Because," said the other, simply, "they are the records of the last war. You mentioned war just now. It happens to be my hobby."
Wayne lifted his large blue eyes with an infantile wonder.
"Come with me," said Turnbull, shortly, and led him into a parlour at the back of the shop.
In the centre of the parlour stood a large deal table. On it were set rows and rows of the tin and lead soldiers which were part of the shopkeeper's stock. The visitor would have thought nothing of it if it had not been for a certain odd grouping of them, which did not seem either entirely commercial or entirely haphazard.
"You are acquainted, no doubt," said Turnbull, turning his big eyes upon Wayne—"you are acquainted, no doubt, with the arrangement of the American and Nicaraguan troops in the last battle;" and he waved his hand towards the table.