“Let’s have it, then,” cried Ned.
“To be sure, let’s have it,” said Griggs, looking proudly at his well-cleaned rifle, before opening the breech and slipping in a couple of cartridges. “There, that’s ready. Now, squire, I’ll have yours, please.”
Ned passed his rifle, after extracting the ball-cartridge, and the American began taking it to pieces at once.
“What’s your notion, my lad?” he said, turning to Chris.
“I’m afraid to say anything about it,” said Chris modestly.
“Why?” cried Ned.
“Because it seems now that I have thought it out quite extravagant and strange.”
“It can’t be worse than mine,” cried Ned bitterly. “Come, out with it. Play fair. I don’t see why I should be laughed at, and you get off scot free.”
“Don’t you make yourself uncomfortable about that, squire,” said Griggs dryly. “I’ll mind and rub him wrong way if there’s nothing in it. Now then, my lad, let’s have it.”
Chris was silent a minute, and then said—