"Now you're being unreasonable, Mr. Rand," he protested. "Look here; I'll
give you seventy-five dollars' credit on anything else in the shop. You
certainly can't find fault with an offer like that."

"I don't want anything else in the shop; I want this revolver you sold
me." Rand gave him a look of supercilious insolence that was at least a
two hundred per cent improvement on Rivers at his most insolent. "You
know, I'll begin to acquire a poor idea of your business methods before
long," he added.

Rivers laughed ruefully. "Well, to tell the truth, I just remembered a
customer of mine who specializes in Confederate arms, who would pay me at
least eighty for that item," he admitted. "I thought..."

Rand shook his head. "I have a special fondness for Confederate arms,
myself. One of my grandfathers was in Mosby's Rangers, and the other was
with Barksdale, to say nothing of about a dozen great-uncles and so on."

"Well, you're entirely within your rights, Mr. Rand," Rivers conceded. "I
should apologize for trying to renege on a sale, but.... Well, I hope to
see you again, soon." He followed Rand to the door, shaking hands with
him. "Don't forget; I'm willing to pay anything up to twenty-five
thousand for the Fleming collection."




CHAPTER 6