The Thread Man felt that he was going to see Life. He
immediately invited the boys to the bar to drink to the success
of the hunt.
"You shoot own coon yourself," offered the magnanimous Jimmy.
"You may carrysh my gunsh, take first shot. First shot to Missher
O'Khayam, boysh, 'member that. Shay, can you hit anything? Take a
try now." Jimmy reached behind him, and shoved a big revolver
into the hand of the Thread Man. "Whersh target?" he demanded.
As he turned from the bar, the milk pail which he still carried
under his arm caught on an iron rod. Jimmy gave it a jerk, and
ripped the rim from the bottom. "Thish do," he said. "Splendid
marksh. Shinesh jish like coon's eyesh in torch light."
He carried the pail to the back wall and hung it over a nail. The
nail was straight, and the pail flaring. The pail fell. Jimmy
kicked it across the room, and then gathered it up, and drove a
dent in it with his heel that would hold over the nail. Then he
went back to the Thread Man." Theresh mark, Ruben. Blash away!"
he said.
The Boston man hesitated. "Whatsh the matter? Cansh shoot off
nothing but your mouth?" demanded Jimmy. He caught the revolver
and fired three shots so rapidly that the sounds came almost as
one. Two bullets pierced the bottom of the pail, and the other
the side as it fell.
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