He would surely, somehow, soon pay back the fifty cents, he argued, and Foxy would wait for the dollar.

And yet that half-dollar was not his, but his mother's, and more than that, if he asked her for it, he was pretty sure she would refuse.

But then, he doubted his mother's judgment as to his ability to use firearms, and besides, this pistol at that price was a great bargain, and any of the boys might pick it up.

Poor Hughie! He did not know how ancient was that argument, nor how frequently it had done duty in smoothing the descent to the lower regions.

The pistol was good to look at, the opportunity of securing it was such as might not occur again, and as for the half-dollar, there could be no harm in borrowing that for a little while.
That was Foxy's day of triumph, but to Hughie it was the beginning of many woeful days and nights.