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 the place for an old humbug like me. Think it over, and let me know."

Hall promised to think it over, that being the easiest formula for putting off a real estate man or a sewing machine agent. He felt that the new understanding had reached a point where Ross's gun might be introduced without anybody's pride being hurt very much. Acting on the thought, he took it out of the black bag and laid it on the desk.

"This is yours, I believe, Dr. Ross. It was left at my place on a day both of us would regret if we remembered it any longer. I'm sorry it's been there so long."

Ross sat up stiffly, his face flashing as red as one of Little Jack Ryan's switch lights.

"It's no gun of mine!" he disclaimed hotly. "No man ever took a gun off of me and lived long enough to tell me about it. Take that damn thing out of my presence, sir!"

Hall was stung to the quick by this wrathful repudiation, this reopening of the feud which he had believed so happily closed.

"I'm sorry to be misunderstood," he said, as haughty and distant as Ross at his best.

He threw the gun into the open bag, picked up his hat and started for the door.

"Come back here!" Ross commanded sharply, springing to his feet. "Give me that damn fool gun—of course it's mine. How I came to lose it, and when, we don't remember, as you've said like a gentleman and a scholar, sir."

Hall delivered the weapon to Ross, who weighed it and turned it in his hand, a look of satisfaction in his eyes that told how much he prized it. He put it away in