“Well, I didn’t understand; I’m glad to know what the situation really is.”  Rivers frowned.  “I thought you were making some kind of an investigation, and as I’m the only party making any serious offer to buy those pistols, I wanted to know what there was to investigate.”

“Do you consider ten thousand dollars to be a serious offer?” Rand asked.  “And aren’t you forgetting Stephen Gresham and his friends?”

“Oh, those people!” Rivers scoffed.  “Mr. Rand, you certainly don’t expect them to be able to handle anything like this, do you?”

“Well, the banks speak well of them,” Rand replied.  “Some of them have good listings in Dun & Bradstreet’s, too.”

“Well, so do I,” Rivers reported.  “I can top any offer that crowd makes.  What do you expect to get out of them, anyhow?”

“I haven’t talked price with them, yet.  A lot more than ten thousand dollars, anyhow.”

Rivers forced a laugh.  “Now, Mr. Rand!  That was just an opening offer.  I thought Fred Dunmore was handling the collection.”  He grimaced.  “What do you think it’s really worth?”

Rand shrugged.  “It probably has a dealer’s piece-by-piece list-value of around seventy thousand.  I’m not nuts enough to expect anything like that in a lump sum, but please, let’s not mention ten thousand dollars in this connection any more.  That’s on the order of Lawyer Marks bidding seventy-five cents for Uncle Tom; it’s only good for laughs.”

“Well, how much more than that do you think Gresham and his crowd will offer?”

“I haven’t talked price with them, yet,” Rand repeated.  “I mean to, as soon as I can.”

“Well, you get their offer, and I’ll top it,” Rivers declared.  “I’m willing to go as high as twenty-five thousand for that collection; they won’t go that high.”

Although he just managed not to show it, Rand was really surprised.  Even a consciousness of abstracting had not prepared him for the shock of hearing Arnold Rivers raise his own offer to something resembling an acceptable figure.  A good case, he reflected, could be made of that for the actuality of miracles.

He rose, picking up his trench coat.

“Well!  That’s something like it, now,” he said.  “I’ll see you later; I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get a list prepared, and circularize the old-arms trade.  I should hear from everybody who’s interested in a few weeks.  You can be sure I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

He slipped into the coat and put on his hat, and then picked up the package containing the Confederate revolver.  Rivers had risen, too; he was watching Rand nervously.  When Rand tucked the package under his arm and began drawing on his gloves, Rivers cleared his throat.

“Mr. Rand, I’m dreadfully sorry,” he began, “but I’ll have to return your money and take back that revolver.  It should not have been sold.”  He got Rand’s sixty dollars out of his pocket as though he expected it to catch fire, and held it out.