hut both eyes tight as
I pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked on the cap with a dull, dead
sound. Then Harris tried it; then Charley Marden; then I took it again,
and after three or four trials was on the point of giving it up as a
bad job, when the obstinate thing went off with a tremendous explosion,
nearly jerking my arm from the socket. The smoke cleared away, and
there I stood with the stock of the pistol clutched convulsively in my
hand--the barrel, lock, trigger, and ramrod having vanished into thin
air.

"Are you hurt?" cried the boys, in one breath.

"N--no," I replied, dubiously, for the concussion had bewildered me a
little.

When I realized the nature of the calamity, my grief was excessive. I
can't imagine what led me to do so ridiculous a thing, but I gravely
buried the remains of my beloved pistol in our back garden, and erected
over the mound a slate tablet to the effect that "Mr. Barker formerly of
new Orleans, was killed accidentally on the Fourth of July, 18-- in the
2nd year of his Age." Binny Wallace, arriving on the spot just after
the disaster, and Charley Marden (who enjoyed the obsequies immensely),
acted with me as chief mourners. I, for my part, was a very sincere one.

As I turned away in a disconsolate mood from the garden, Charley Marden
remarked that he shouldn't be surprised if the pistol-butt took root and
grew into a mahogany-tree or something. He said he once planted an old
musket-stock, and shortly afterwards a lot of shoots sprung up! Jack
Harris laughed; but neither I nor Binny Wallace saw Charley's wicked
joke.

We were now joined by Pepper Whitcomb, Fred Langdon, and several other
desperate characters, on their way to the Square, which was always a
busy place when public festivities were going on. Feeling that I was
still in disgrace with the Captain, I thought it politic to ask his
consent before accompanying the boys.

He gave it with some hesitation, advising me to be careful not to get
in front of the firearms. Once he put his fingers mechanically into his
vest-pocket and half drew forth some dollar bills, then slowly thrust
them back again as his sense of justice overcame his genial disposition.
I guess it cut the old gentleman to the heart to be obliged to keep
me out of my pocket-money. I know it did me. However, as I was passing
through the hall, Miss Abigail, with a very severe cast of countenance,
slipped a brand-new quarter into my hand. We had silver currency