The veteran had arisen from the pile of wheels and was glaring at the company, “What does I do? Does I set down an’ be tuk off like the other fellys? No. I ups an’ fires an’ hits it right atween the eyes.”
He resumed his seat and began refilling his pipe. An expectant silence reigned in the shop. The Blacksmith waited until he saw the veteran light a match and fall to smoking.
“Go on,” he cried, making a threatening movement with his scissors.
“They ain’t no more to tell,” said the G. A. R. Man nonchalantly. “Wasn’t that awfuller then a dozen hoop-snakes?”
“Well, what was the thing ye shot?” asked the Loafer, slipping off the anvil and facing the pile of wheels.
The old soldier’s clay pipe fell from his hand and crashed into a hundred pieces on the floor. He opened wide his mouth in vain effort to speak, but the words failed to come.
“What was it?” shouted the Loafer.
“Well, I’ll swan ef I know,” replied the veteran meekly.