"Shit on maybe, mister," the smith said, suddenly angry and showing me the size of his fist. It was about as big as a dray horse's hoof and looked nea...ly as hard."I'm a Continental," I said, "Maryland Line." All right then," the smith said, "so why'n't y'give us them muskets, and I'll do the farrier work for nought." That's no bargain," I said. "Muskets are worth a pound a piece easy." Aw right," said the self-anointed captain, "We'll split with ye, take two and half the ammunition. How's. Are you serious?” He had a rebellious look on his face, and I recalled that he and Schaefer had their differences about this.I looked him in the eye and said, “Yes. How much are we talking about?”“How about twenty thousand for a clinic in Pimlico?”“Fifteen,” I countered, “but it is in matching funds. You scrape up fifteen elsewhere, anywhere, and I’ll cough up another fifteen. Deal?”“Make it twenty, and you get to stand there and cut the ribbon,” he pushed.“Only if the Sun and the television. More

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