“Oh,” cried Mark, stamping his foot, “isn’t it enough to aggravate a saint? These two are just alike, going on telling you a thing over and over again, especially if it is something you don’t want to know. Look here, Buck; I have lost my gun.”
“Yes, sir; you said so afore.”
“And I know as well as you do where it is not.”
“Exactly so, sir. You mean, in the arms rack as we made by driving them hard pegs into the courses of the wall.”
“Yes,” said Mark. “Well?”
“Well, sir, I was going to tell you—”
“What were you going to tell me?” raged out Mark.
“That when I went there this morning to get the ile bottle—”
“Yes, yes?” cried Mark.
“I run my eyes over the guns, and it struck me like as there was one short.”