North of Boston

THEY aim much happened sence the last riting. I am driving between Augusta and Lewiston and much to my surprise find myself in a gun shop and ast what is new. The owner of the dead fall says "Dewey Bryant of Gray—he's got a wonderful cased Patterson Colt— practically stole it. Just refused $1600."

I learn that this Dewey Bryant is a highly skilled machinist. In his spare time he collects and restores old arms. He even builds muzzle loading rifles and shoots same in competition.

Drive to Dewey's small house. He is a State of Mainer just as foolish as two dens full of foxes. Roll my eyes around his living room and come up with a snap inventory of $5,000 in beautiful old rifles.

Presently he produces the Patterson. I tell him that I aint no Colt collector, but have got a friend who can and will lay the old pluribus unum right on the line.

"I can't afford to keep this pistol says Dewey "for I got a girl to educate. And I earn my living with my hands. What I want is a thousand in cash to put awav for her and the balance in fine old guns to sort of take the place of the Patterson."

He fumbles a cigarette out of his overalls. "I'm just a little guy. What I have in this room I got the hard way. Done it nights. I love what's rare and built beautiful. Them old time gun smiths done work such as we'll never see again. I can do real fine work but I cant come up to what they done."

Light refiected oft the Patterson's case "You know I can't afford to keep that pistol. But I want to hold onto it just a little longer. All my life I dreamed about finding one. I found it. So don't bring your buyer too soon."

Dewey walked out to the car with me. "You see what I'm driving at?"

I just nodded. They aint much you can say to a guy like that.