“I’m getting at this,” replied Roy. “I’ll need a certain kind of outfit. If I can get enough wages advanced to me to make it possible I’ll buy the clothes and things I need in Chicago—not here. From my Baden-Powell to my automatic.”
“What are those?” interrupted his mother.
“Well,” explained Roy, smiling, “Baden-Powell is the name of a hat. I’ll get one with a leather band and a leather string to slip under the hair. Automatics are what they use to-day. Colts have gone out of style. You must have a ten-shot automatic revolver.”
“Roy,” exclaimed Mrs. Osborne, “you don’t mean to tell me you are actually going to carry a real revolver?”
“And a knife,” added the lad solemnly.
“Then you’ll stay right here at home.”
It was now Mr. Osborne’s turn to laugh.
“I thought you were so brave about the kid’s going away!”
“But I don’t see any sense in him going around like a desperado.”