“A GUN, sir--a plain, straightforward GUN--one that can be relied upon. Not for mySELF, sir--I am not murderously inclined--but for a friend who has commissioned me--the exact word, sir--although the percentage is small--comMISsioned me to acquire for him a fowling piece of the pattern, weight, and build of those belonging to St. George W. Temple, Esquire, of Kennedy Square-and so I made bold, sir, to--” “You won't find it, Gadgem,” replied St. George, buttering the toast. “I have two that I have shot with for years that haven't their match in the State. Todd, bring me one of those small bird guns--there, behind the door in the rack. Hand it to Mr. Gadgem. Now, can you see by the shape of--take hold of it, man. But do you know anything about guns?” “Only enough to keep away from their muzzles, sir.” He had it in his hand now--holding it by the end of the barrel, Todd instinctively dodging out of the way, although he knew it was not loaded. “No, sir, I don't know anything--not the very SMALLest thing about guns. There is nothing, in fact, I know so little about as a gun--that is why I have come to you.” St. George recovered the piece and laid it as gently on the table beside his plate as if it had been a newly laid egg. “No, I don't think you do,” he laughed, “or you wouldn't hold it upside down. Now go on and give me the rest.” Gadgem emitted a chuckle--the nearest he ever came to a laugh: “To have it go ON, sir, is infinitely preferable than to have it go OFF, sir. He-he! And you have, I believe you said, two of these highly valuable implements of death?” “Yes, five altogether--two of this kind. Here, Todd”--and he picked up the gun--“put it back behind the door.” Gadgem felt in his inside pocket, produced and consulted a memorandum with the air of a man who wanted to be entirely sure, and in a bland voice said: “I should think at your time of life--if you will permit me, sir--that one less gun would not seriously inconvenience you. Would you permit me, sir, to hope that--” St. George looked up from his plate and a peculiar expression flitted across his face. “You mean you want to buy it?” The bill collector made a little movement forward and scrutinized St. George's face with the eye of a hawk. For a man of Temple's kidney to be without a fowling piece was like a king being without a crown. This was the crucial moment. Gadgem knew Temple's class, and knew just how delicately he must be handled. If St. George's pride, or his love for his favorite chattels--things personal to himself--should overcome him, the whole scheme would fall to the ground. That any gentleman of his standing had ever seen the inside of a pawn-shop in his life was unthinkable. This was what Gadgem faced. As for Todd, he had not drawn a full breath since Gadgem opened his case.