manner signalling caution--though the exploit, thus far,
certainly required none and Penrod began to be impressed and
hopeful. They entered the house, silently, encountering no one,
and Sam led the way upstairs, tiptoeing, implying unusual and
increasing peril. Turning, in the upper hall, they went into
Sam's father's bedroom, and Sam closed the door with a caution so
genuine that already Penrod's eyes began to fulfil his host's
prediction. Adventures in another boy's house are trying to the
nerves; and another boy's father's bedroom, when invaded, has a
violated sanctity that is almost appalling. Penrod felt that
something was about to happen--something much more important than
he had anticipated.

Sam tiptoed across the room to a chest of drawers, and, kneeling,
carefully pulled out the lowest drawer until the surface of its
contents--Mr. Williams' winter underwear--lay exposed. Then he
fumbled beneath the garments and drew forth a large object,
displaying it triumphantly to the satisfactorily dumfounded
Penrod.

It was a blue-steel Colt's revolver, of the heaviest pattern made
in the Seventies. Mr. Williams had inherited it from Sam's
grandfather (a small man, a deacon, and dyspeptic) and it was
larger and more horrible than any revolver either of the boys had
ever seen in any picture, moving or stationary. Moreover,
greenish bullets of great size were to be seen in the chambers of
the cylinder, suggesting massacre rather than mere murder. This
revolver was Real and it was Loaded!