"Uh-huh," says I. "So it is."
"Well?" says Vee.
I expect that was my cue to come across with the bold and noble acts. But, somehow, I didn't yearn to dash out into the moonlight in my pajamas and mix in rough with a total stranger. But I didn't mean to give it away if I could help it.
"Got a nerve, ain't he?" says I. "Let's wait; maybe he'll fall into the pond."
"How absurd!" says Vee. "No; we must do something right away."
"Of course," says I. "I'll shout and ask him what the blazes he thinks he's doin'. "
"Don't," says Vee. "There may be others—in the house. And before you let him know you see him, you ought to be armed. Get your revolver."
At that I just gawped at Vee, for she knows well enough I don't own anything more deadly than a safety razor, and that all the gun-play I ever indulged in was once or twice at a Coney Island shootin' gallery where I slaughtered a clay pipe by aimin' at a glass ball.
"Whaddye mean, revolver?" I asks.
"S-s-s-sh!" says she. "There's that Turkish pistol, you know, that Mr. Shinn left hanging over the mantel in the living-room."