"You can even strap it on. And rest assured, I do not wish this gun pointed at anyone. Despite my trade in weapons, I'm not a violent person."

Jacob looked the weapon over with an unsophisticated and untrained eye: he used weapons to hunt, he could load them, shoot them, oft times they'd get him supper, but he wasn't a connoisseur like Mr Cantrell, say. "That's all right. I wouldn't be wearing it."

"I'll tell you what has occurred to me. You strike me as an honest man. From even a brief encounter, it's apparent your wife is a serious woman who wouldn't tolerate any other sort of man than one who is honest and true. The townsfolk will know this about you. They'll also know that you always sling that musket with you as you go about your trade."

Jacob fell back to his trademark response. "Uh huh." When an honest man gets told he's honest, the hairs on his neck tend to prickle a little.

Roland shrugged, "So if you suddenly appear with a pistol at your hip, curiosity will get the better of them. 'Why, Mr. Lutz, I see you have a new firearm. I don't think I've seen that one before.'"

Jacob tried hard to think of anybody who would say that to him. Actually, sadly, there were a couple. Wus Pettigrew or Hector's idiotic Pa for starters.

The Englishman nodded at the young lad, "And then, I count on the magic only you can provide."

"That right?" the lad frowned and watched the Englishman put a couple of cartridge boxes on the counter, presumably ammo for this piece, which he now put gingerly back into the box. He picked up his cup of tea defensively. Still too hot for him to handle, he reckoned. 

"I propose that you take that pistol, and take this ammunition. Find some place you like to target practice. Fire off twenty or thirty shots, and see how you like it. Then, when someone inevitably asks you about the pistol... you just tell them. Tell them what you thought of it. No embellishments. No dissembling. Your honest opinion, and then tell them where you got it."

"Like advertising, huh?" Jake asked rhetorically. He knew that exactly what Smith was proposing.

"Each time a customer walks in here and buys something, mentioning they've spoken to you, I'll give them five-percent off the purchase price, and pay you twenty-five cents besides. The arrangement can continue as long as you fancy. I expect big things, but I demand nothing. What I hope is that you'll consent to give it a try. And if by some misfortune you get into a scrape and the pistol proves useful? Well, that's just a bonus, if it keeps Mrs. Lutz from becoming a widow and prevents me from losing my advertiser."

Jacob put his tea cup and saucer down, less calmly than he'll hoped to, it clattered a little and the hot orange liquid spilt and puddled a little in the saucer. Then he pulled the notebook toward him and picked up the pencil and wrote 'R SMITH' where Roland's signature was meant to go, and then finally stood stiffly up.

"You must think I was born yesterday, Mr Smith. Thanks for the signature and sorry I didn't finish the tea!" he said tersely before grabbing his musket and stalking to the door, only turning briefly to point a finger at the tall man and warn him "... and you stay away from my wife!"

And if that behavior wasn't singular enough, less than a minute later, the door jingle-jangled again and in burst a somewhat diminutive cowboy, 5 '5 1/4" at most, bowlegged, dusty, packing a pistol and grinning from ear to ear. "Howdy Mister!" he beamed "Feller outside told me you was giving away free firearms!"