The first to enter my field thereafter was a man. I was waiting for him — And, oh joy! it was the "Repeater" himself, smugly complacent with knowledge of past success. I dropped the rifle negligently across the hollow of my arm and went down to him.
"I am sorry to trouble you for those poppies," I said in my oiliest tones; "but really, you know, I must have them."
He regarded me speechlessly. It must have made a great picture. It surely was dramatic. With the rifle across my arm and my suave request still ringing in my ears, I felt like Black Bart, and Jesse James, and Jack Shepard, and Robin Hood, and whole generations of highwaymen.
"Come, come," I said, a little sharply and in what I imagined was the true fashion; "I am sorry to inconvenience you, believe me, but I must have those poppies."
I absently shifted the gun and smiled. That fetched him. Without a word he passed them over and turned his toes toward the fence, but no longer casual and careless was his carriage, nor did he ,stoop to pick the occasional poppy by the way. That, was the last of the "Repeater." I could see
