Roscoe walked back and forth in front of the fireplace as he talked with the soft, lithe steps of a man trying to walk noiselessly through woods.
"Say, Herb, will you lend me that little .22 revolver of yours for a day or two?"
"What do you want with it? You aren't going to shoot up the dean of the Graduate School with it, are you?"
"No, no," said Wenny laughing a little shrilly. "It's curious ... I'd like to carry a gun for a day or two ... In the first place I've never done it, and the thought of death in my back pocket makes me a little nervous, and I'd like to try my nerve out, and then I just might need it ... I'll tell you why ... I'm going in for low life a little. Heavy slumming ... I'll tell you about it in a day or two, honestly I will, when things get under way a little. There's a woman in the case and everything, and a bum and a Chinaman."
"Gee, I wish you'll let me in on it. I'm just pining away for excitement in this dull hole."
"Honestly I'll tell you all about it in a day or two, but I'm such a damn coward I want to test my nerve out alone first. Don't be uneasy if I don't turn up for a day or two. I'll be all right."
Roscoe handed him a little blue steel revolver and a handful of cartridges.
"Don't get pinched for concealed weapons."
"Never fear," said Wenny jumping tensely to his feet.
"Do be careful, Wendell; it's always the man scared of a gun who shoots himself or the innocent bystanders instead of bagging his game. Get me?"