Lucian, finding that
some one was resisting his attempt to close the door, looked out,
recognized Cashel, turned white, and hastily retreated into the
apartment, where, getting behind a writing-table, he snatched a
revolver from a drawer. Cashel recoiled, amazed and frightened, with
his right arm up as if to ward off a blow.
"Hullo!" he cried. "Drop that d--d thing, will you? If you don't,
I'll shout for help."
"If you approach me I will fire," said Lucian, excitedly. "I will
teach you that your obsolete brutality is powerless against the
weapons science has put into the hands of civilized men. Leave my
apartments. I am not afraid of you; but I do not choose to be
disturbed by your presence."
"Confound your cheek," said Cashel, indignantly; "is that the way
you receive a man who comes to make a friendly call on you?"
"Friendly NOW, doubtless, when you see that I am well protected."
Cashel gave a long whistle. "Oh," he said, "you thought I came to
pitch into you. Ha! ha! And you call that science--to draw a pistol
on a man. But you daren't fire it, and well you know it. You'd
better put it up, or you may let it off without intending to: I
never feel comfortable when I see a fool meddling with firearms.
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