“Here, you, sir!” he cried to the dealer, who was most attentive; “what have you to say for yourself? It’s a wonder that I did not shoot one of my friends here. That gun ought to be destroyed.”
“My dear Burne,” said the professor, who had taken the fowling-piece and tried the locks, cocking and recocking them over and over again; “the piece seems to me to be in very perfect order.”
“Bah! stuff! What do you know about guns?”
“Certainly I have not used one much lately, and many improvements have been made since I used to go shooting; but still I do know how to handle a gun.”
“Then, sir,” cried the little lawyer in a towering fury, “perhaps you will be good enough to tell me how it was that this confounded piece of mechanism went off in my hands?”
“Simply,” said the professor smiling, “because you drew both the triggers at once.”
“It is false, sir. I just rested my fingers upon them as you are doing now.”
“And the piece went off!” said the professor drily, but smiling the while. “It is a way that all guns and pistols have.”
The dealer smiled his thanks, and Mr Burne started up in the chair, but threw himself back again.
“Oh, dear! oh, my gracious me!” he groaned; “and you two grinning at me and rejoicing over my sufferings.”