“They ought to be copper,” said Stan.
“Very well, then, coppers—ready to ‘sky,’ Stan—eh? You remember skying the copper—the old charwoman putting the gunpowder in the copper flue, as she said, to ‘burn up by degrees’?”
“Yes, I remember,” said Stan, laughing; “and when it had exploded she said, ‘Where is the powder blue?’”
“Exactly. The result of meddling with explosives which she did not understand. I don’t understand these things, so I feel nervous about handling them; but with the proviso that you two are careful, I shall send an order for all the materials you want, so that we shall have so many mines ready for war-junks which come to meddle with us. But it must take time.”
“Yes,” said Blunt, “it will take some months, for everything will have to come from England, I expect. But I honestly believe that it will be long before the enemy get over the defeat they have had, and meanwhile I feel quite happy, for you have brought me four times as large a supply of cartridges as we had before, and yourself as reinforcement. Besides, our men are all veterans now, ready for the savage brutes if they do venture to come.”
“Well, the longer they keep off the better,” said Uncle Jeff, “for you will not be out of hospital for a month, Blunt.”
“What!” cried the manager fiercely. “Let them come, and they’d find me ready for action now.”
Uncle Jeff glanced at him and shook his head.
“But I am, I tell you,” cried Blunt excitedly. “My eyes are clear, and my hand is pretty steady. I could manage a rifle now as well as when I practised at a mark.—What do you say, Stan? Don’t you think I could fight?”
“I believe you’d try.”