"Of course," I remarked, "I don't know much about it, but if there is anything left to cut when you go out I think it should be stropped a bit first."
"Well," said the proud owner, "I ordered it at Slashers', and they ought to know. Suppose we rub it up on young Henry's emery wheel?"
"Wait a minute," I cried; "I should like to see it on."
Archibald buckled on the scabbard and I slapped the trusty blade home.
It certainly looked a bit odd. I surveyed it in profile.
"No!" I exclaimed, "there is something about it ... a Yussuf air ... that little bend at the tip is reminiscent of Turkestan."
We found Henry in the workshop.
"My fairy godmother," he shouted, "did you pinch it from the pantomime?"
We did not deign to reply. Gingerly, very gingerly, we applied Yussuf to the emery wheel.... Little flakes came off him—just little flakes.
It was very distressing.