"Well, it may be your father's but it ain't yours," Penrod
argued, becoming logical. "It ain't either'r of us revolaver, so
I got as much right--"

"You haven't either. It's my fath--"

"WATCH, can't you--just a minute!" Penrod urged vehemently. "I'm
not goin' to keep it, am I? You can have it when I get through,
can't you? Here's how _I_ do: I'm comin' along after dark, just
walkin' along this way--like this--look, Sam!"

Penrod, suiting the action to the word, walked to the other end
of the room, swinging the revolver at his side with affected
carelessness.

"I'm just walkin' along like this, and first I don't see you,"
continued the actor. "Then I kind of get a notion sumpthing
wrong's liable to happen, so I--No!" He interrupted himself
abruptly. "No; that isn't it. You wouldn't notice that I had my
good ole revolaver with me. You wouldn't think I had one, because
it'd be under my coat like this, and you wouldn't see it." Penrod
stuck the muzzle of the pistol into the waistband of his
knickerbockers at the left side and, buttoning his jacket,
sustained the weapon in concealment by pressure of his elbow. "So
you think I haven't got any; you think I'm just a man comin'
along, and so you--"

Sam advanced. "Well, you've had your turn," he said. "Now, it's
mine. I'm goin' to show you how I--"