Andy retired, and Dick pursued his polishing of the locks. Why he used such a blundering fellow as Andy for a messenger might be wondered at, only that Dick was fond of fun, and Andy's mistakes were a particular source of amusement to him, and on all occasions when he could have Andy in his company he made him his attendant. When the sweet oil was produced, Dick looked about for a feather; but, not finding one, desired Andy to fetch him a pen. Andy went on his errand, and returned, after some delay, with an ink bottle. "I brought you the ink, sir; but I can't find a pin." "Confound your numskull! I didn't say a word about ink--I asked for a pen." "And what use would a pin be without ink, now I ax yourself, Misther Dick?" "I'd knock your brains out if you had any, you _omadhaun_! Go along, and get me a feather, and make haste." Andy went off, and having obtained a feather, returned to Dick, who began to tip certain portions of the lock very delicately with oil. "What's that for, Misther Dick, sir, if you plaze?" "To make it work smooth." "And what's that thing you're grazin' now, sir?" "That's the tumbler." "O Lord! a tumbler--what a quare name for it. I thought there was no tumbler but a tumbler for punch." "That's the tumbler you would like to be cleaning the inside of, Andy." "Thrue for you, sir. And what's that little thing you have your hand on now, sir?" "That's the cock." "Oh, dear, a cock! Is there e'er a hin in it, sir?" "No, nor a chicken either, though there _is_ a feather." "The one in your hand, sir, that you're grazin' it with?" "No: but this little thing--that is called the feather-spring." "It's the feather, I suppose, makes it let fly." "No doubt of it, Andy." "Well, there's some sinse in that name, then; but who'd think of sich a thing as a tumbler and a cock in a pistle? And what's that place that open and shuts, sir?" "The pan." "Well, there's sinse in that name too, bekase there's fire in the thing; and it's as nath'ral to say pan to that as to a fryin'-pan--isn't it, Misther Dick?" "Oh! there was a great gunmaker lost in you, Andy," said Dick, as he screwed on the locks, which he had regulated to his mind, and began to examine the various departments of the pistol-case, to see that it was properly provided. He took the instrument to cut some circles of thin leather, and Andy again asked him for the name o' _that_ thing? "This is called the punch, Andy." "So there is the punch as well as the tumbler, sir." "Ay, and very strong punch it is, you see, Andy;" and Dick, struck it with his little mahogany mallet, and cut his patches of leather. "And what's that for, sir?--the leather I mane." "That's for putting round the ball." "Is it for fear 't would hurt him too much when you shot him." "You're a queer customer, Andy," said Dick, smiling. "And what weeshee little balls thim is, sir." "They are always small for duelling-pistols."