Frank, meanwhile, had taken up his gun, and quietly sneaked
out of the door, two flat irregular reports explaining, half a moment
after, the purport of his absence.
"Well, now, Frank, that is"--expostulated Harry--"that is just the most
snobbish thing I ever saw you do; aint you ashamed of yourself now, you
genuine cockney!"
"Not a bit--my gun has not been used these three months, and something
might have got into the chamber!"
"Something might not, if when you cleaned it last you had laid a wad in
the centre of a bit of greased rag three inches square and rammed it
about an inch down the barrel, leaving the ends of the linen hanging
out. And by running your rod down you could have ascertained the fact,
without unnecessarily fouling your piece. A gun has no right ever to
miss fire now; and never does, if you use Westley Richards' caps, and
diamond gunpowder--putting the caps on the last thing--which has the
further advantage of being much the safer plan, and seeing that the
powder is up to the cones before you do so. If it is not so, let your
hammer down, and give a smart tap to the under side of the breech,
holding it uppermost, and you will never need a picker; or at least
almost never.
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