"I wouldn't mind coming if you were going to do something with real guns." "Why, they're real pistols." "Pistols! Yes--pop-guns.

I mean big cannons." "Ah, well," I said, "I'm sorry you will not come, but I must go." "That's always the way when a fellow comes away from our old physic-shop and takes the trouble to walk all these miles.

You're always either out or going out." "I can't help it, Bob," I replied, feeling rather ill-used.

"My father expects me.

I have to help him now.