shoes, and placed
him in the pay-dirt bracket; however, from some remarks Rand had let
drop, he decided that this customer knew pistols, and probably knew
values.

"Why, that is sixty dollars, Mr. Rand," he said, with the air of one
conferring a benefaction. Maybe he was, at that, Rand decided; prices had
jumped like the very devil since the war.

"I'll take it." He dug out his billfold and extracted three twenties.
"Nice clean condition; clean it up yourself?"

"Why, no. Mr. Rivers got it like this. As I said, it's supposed to have
been a family heirloom, but from the way it's been cared for, I would
have thought it had been in a collection," the clerk replied. "Shall I
wrap it for you?"

"Yes, if you please." Rand followed him to the rear, laying aside his
coat and hat. Gillis got some heavy paper out of a closet and packaged
it, then hunted through a card-file in the top drawer of the desk, until
he found the card he wanted. He made a few notes on it, and was still
holding it and the sixty dollars when he rejoined Rand by the fire.

In spite of his effeminate appearance and over-refined manner, the young
fellow really knew arms. The conversation passed from Confederate
revolvers to the arms of the Civil War in general, and they were
discussing the changes in tactics occasioned by the introduction of the
revolver and the repeating carbine when the door from the house opened
and Arnold Rivers appeared on the landing.

He looked older than when Rand had last seen him. His hair was thinner on
top and grayer at the temples. Never particularly robust, he had lost
weight, and his face was thinner and more hollow-cheeked. His mouth still
had the old curve of supercilious insolence, and he was still smoking
with the six-inch carved ivory cigarette-holder which Rand remembered.

He looked his visitor over carefully from the doorway, decided that he
was not soliciting magazine subscriptions or selling Fuller brushes, and
came down the steps. As he did, he must have recognized Rand; he shifted
the cigarette-holder to his left hand and extended his right.

"Mr. Rand, isn't it?" he asked. "I thought I knew you. It's been some
years since you've been around here."

"I've been a lot of places in the meantime," Rand said.

"You were here last in October, '41, weren't you?" Rivers thought for a
moment. "You bought a Highlander, then. By Alexander Murdoch, of Doune,
wasn't it?"

"No; Andrew Strahan, of Edzel," Rand replie