Do pin-fire
cartridges go off of their own accord?"
"Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry them."
"I'm not afraid." Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket and her
chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver.
The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable without
pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick had saved seven
shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly constructed Belgian revolver.
Maisie could only contribute half a crown to the syndicate for the purchase of
a hundred cartridges. "You can save better than I can, Dick," she explained; "I
like nice things to eat, and it doesn't matter to you. Besides, boys ought to
do these things."
Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but went out and made the purchase,
which the children were then on their way to test. Revolvers did not lie in the
scheme of their daily life as decreed for them by the guardian who was
incorrectly supposed to stand in the place of a mother to these two orphans.
Dick had been under her care for six years, during which time she had made her
profit of the allowances supposed to be expended on his clothes, and, partly
through thoughtlessness, partly through a natural desire to pain,--she was a
widow of some years anxious to marry again,--had made his days burdensome on
his young shoulders.
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