“Carving knives?” said the dealer. “I do not keep them.”
“Yes, you do: these,” said Mr Burne, pointing to a case in which were several Eastern sabres.
“Oh, the swords!” said the dealer smiling. “Of course.”
“You are not going to buy one of these, are you, Mr Burne?” said Lawrence eagerly.
“To be sure I am,” was the reply. “Why shouldn’t I play at soldiers if I like. There, what do you say to that?” he continued, drawing a light, keen-looking blade from its curved sheath. “Try it. Mind it don’t go off—I mean, don’t go slashing it round and cutting off the professor’s legs or my head. Can you lift it?”
“Oh, yes,” cried Lawrence, poising the keen weapon in his hand before examining its handsome silver inlaid hilt.
“Think that would do for me? Oh, dear me, what a twinge!”
“Yes, sir, admirably,” replied Lawrence.
“Then I don’t,” was the gruff retort. “Seems to me that it would just suit you. There, buckle on the belt.”
Lawrence did as he was told, but the belt was too large and had to be reduced.