"This," said the Senator.
And he lifted up a crow-bar from the front of the coach. Brandishing it in the air as easily as an ordinary man would swing a walking-stick. He looked calmly at his astonished companions.
"You see," said he, "there are several reasons why this is the best sort of weapon for me. A short knife is no use. A sword is no good, for I don't know the sword exercise. A gun is worthless; I would fire it off once and then have to use it as a club. It would then be apt to break. That would be disagreeable--especially in the middle of a fight. A stick or club of any kind would be open to the same objection. What, then, is the weapon for me? Look at me. I am big, strong, and active. I have no skill. I am brute strength. So a club is my only weapon--a club that won't break. Say iron, then. There you have it."
And the Senator swung the ponderous bar around in a way that showed the wisdom of his choice.
"You are about right," said Buttons. "I venture to say you'll do as much mischief with that as Dick will with his pistol. Perhaps more. As for me, I don't expect to do much. Still, if the worst comes, I'll try to do what I can."
"We may not have to use them," said the Senator. "Who are below?"
"Below?"
"In the coach?"
"Italians."
"Women?"