Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 129 The Eve of Action
Sunday, August 21th.

At 10 a.m., Larry brought William Boeing to the shooting club.

William Boeing was actually only two years younger than Larry, but because he hadn't entered puberty and was shorter, when he followed Larry into the shooting club, everyone's first reaction was that it looked like an adult leading a child in.

Mr. Burnham frowned at William Boeing, then turned to Larry and asked,

"Mr. Livingston, did you bring your brother with you?"

Larry smiled, patted little William on the shoulder, and said with a laugh,

"Yes, this is my younger brother!"

William Boeing smiled and quickly and politely greeted Mr. Burnham.

Mr. Burnham smiled at Larry's polite manner and said, "Mr. Browning is here; he's waiting for you inside."

Larry led William Boeing a few steps into the lounge.

Pushing open the door, Browning, with a full beard, was tidying up his things on the table. When he saw Larry enter with an even younger child, he chose to ignore the child and instead picked up a long gun wrapped in a soft blanket and handed it to Larry.

"Take this! It's my return gift."

Larry was surprised that Browning had responded with a rifle. He looked slightly bewildered, then sat down and began peeling back the layers of the blanket.

Finally, the rifle revealed its true form.

This is the prototype of a meticulously crafted single-shot rifle.

The walnut stock is inlaid with brass honeycomb patterns, and the receiver, with its pale yellow metallic sheen, is engraved with the words "JMBrowning 1879" on the side, along with a faint outline of Utah on the right.

Larry was now used to catching up on his studies after chatting with people, so when he picked up the gun, he immediately understood its origin—it was a prototype single-shot rifle developed by Browning and Winchester.

This rifle is chambered in .45 caliber, fires black powder rounds, and features a heavy stock to enhance accuracy, making it suitable for range testing.

Larry held the rifle in his arms, turning it over and over, playing with it repeatedly, a look of delight on his face.

“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Browning, this is a prototype gun! Oh, this is incredibly valuable.”

Prototype guns are usually handcrafted, almost like works of art. Mr. Browning certainly cherished his reputation and meticulously sculpted this prototype gun.

Browning nodded slightly and replied, "Yes, this gun was retrieved from Winchester; it contains all my memories of that time."

Larry looked at him with a smile. "Trading a standard-issue pistol for your prototype gun? That's a great deal for me."

Browning waved his hand dismissively, saying, "I'm not interested in rifles right now. I think your suggestion is excellent—build an automatic pistol! That's a game-changer! Let them play with rifles for a while!"

Before Larry could answer, the door to the lounge was pushed open, and someone continued Browning's words.
"That's not necessarily true. I think the French Lebel M1886 is quite good now. Although the design is a bit conservative, the use of smokeless powder is a highlight, and um, there's also its 8-round magazine!"

Larry suddenly turned around and saw that the man was Matthew Browning.

"Oh, Matthew, what brings you here?" Larry quickly stood up.

Matthew Browning gave a helpless smile, glanced at his brother John Browning, and said resignedly,
“My older brother sent me a telegram urging me to come to Boston as soon as possible. I had machine gun debugging work to do on Friday, so I took the train overnight on Saturday.”

John Browning shook his head slightly, his long, wire-like beard swaying in the breeze.

"No! That gun won't do. The design is too conservative. It doesn't use a box-feed system but a tube-feed system, and it even uses flat-nosed bullets. If I were to design it, I would use pointed bullets."

As he spoke, John Browning seemed to remember something, slapped his forehead and said, "That's right, the German 1888 Commission Rifle is quite good. I think that rifle could be modified into a classic rifle, with good accuracy, simplicity and reliability."

Larry might not know about other guns, but when Browning mentioned the German 1888 Commission Rifle, Larry definitely knew it.

This gun is the mother gun of the famous Chinese "Hanyang Type" rifle. The later mature version is the classic Mauser 1898 rifle. This gun is the mother gun of many classic rifles before World War I.

Matthew nodded in agreement, "Yes, the rotating bolt action is truly a brilliant design!"

Larry couldn't understand the specific technical details they were discussing. As he pulled Matthew to sit down, he said, "Then why didn't you think of designing a similar rifle? You know, the US military also needs this kind of new rifle..."

John Browning looked thoughtful and murmured, "Bolt-action rifles? Would the U.S. military procure them?"

Matthew gave a helpless look and spread his hands. "Does that even need to be said? The US military is still using lever-action rifles. If those things encounter a Mauser, they'll be riddled with bullets."

"Aren't they inspecting a new gun?"

Matthew was even more speechless. He frowned and asked, "The Krag-Jørgensen rifle? It's a new gun this year, but its design is even older than the Colt, which died decades ago. That thing still requires manual loading of bullets one by one and cannot be quickly loaded using a stripper clip. If the US military were to engage in a firefight with an army equipped with Mauser rifles, they would really be riddled with bullets."

The two of them started discussing the technical details again, one after the other...

Larry quickly interrupted them again during a lull, laughing as he said, "If possible, designing both guns together shouldn't be too difficult for you brothers!"

The two exchanged a glance, knowing they were getting to the point, and quickly looked at Larry together.

Larry smiled. "My proposal is to set up our own gun company, which will only be responsible for design and refinement, while I'll handle sales. Once we get the orders, we'll find an arms factory to produce them... Matthew, do you understand?"

Matthew was a little confused, but John Browning patted him on the shoulder and casually said, "I'll explain it to you later. I think what you're saying should work, but I don't know how much it would cost to set up such a company." Larry smiled and turned to look at William Boeing.

The latter earnestly pulled out his notebook, coughed lightly, nodded to Larry and the other two, and spoke in an adult-like tone.
"Gentlemen, at Mr. Livingston's request, I have done a preliminary cost estimate for the firearms company. If we need to establish a company focused solely on design, testing, and finalization, the required equipment is as follows: three lathes and one milling machine, costing approximately $1500-$2500; a drilling machine and a grinding table, costing approximately $450; consumables, equipment, and specialized measuring tools, costing approximately $200... If we rent the space, the annual rent will be $300 to $500, but if we want to buy land and build it ourselves, the cost will need to be calculated further."

At this point, Larry waved his hand and said, "Don't rent the space. The gun company will be extremely noisy. Let's buy the land. Anyway, the company won't need much space."

William Boeing nodded, looking at Ben, and continued, "The outdoor testing grounds and indoor testing grounds cost about $1500... This includes the cost of the earthen retaining walls, as well as personnel salaries. Even if Mr. Browning were to personally oversee the operation, at least two skilled technicians would be needed, right? If the weekly wage is $12-15, that's $1248 to $1560 a year, not to mention coal, lubricating oil..."

Larry patted him on the shoulder and urged, "Get to the point!"

"Less than $1 is enough to last the first year, not counting the land!"

Matthew stroked his chin thoughtfully and said, "The location will require some thought. If we really want to build it in Boston, we need to find a good place that won't disturb others, but isn't too remote either..."

Larry smiled and held up a finger, saying, "I have a good suggestion. Let's go to Walden Pond. It's a beautiful place, and it's close to the Minutemen National Historical Park... How about we build a classic American gun near the site of the American Revolutionary War?"

The Browning brothers exchanged a glance, their faces lighting up with delight. "Great! That's a good idea. So when shall we go?"

“Next Saturday, I have some things to take care of next week. Once I’m done, we can go together!” Larry said solemnly.
.
Six p.m.

Senator John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts sat in the VIP waiting room of Boston Central Station, watching his son running around wildly, playing and shouting in the station hall.

Surrounded by bodyguards and police officers at the waiting room entrance, Kennedy wasn't worried about his child. Instead, he watched him running around happily with a smile on his face.

After a while, the bodyguard informed the butler that Liam Stone, the chief of the D Precinct of the Boston Police Department, was requesting an audience.

Kennedy, with only the children in his eyes, maintained his smile and did not answer.

The butler was already used to the young master's personality, so he didn't urge him but waited quietly, maintaining a reporting posture.

After a full 30 seconds, Kennedy finally ordered, "Let him in!"

Soon, a tall policeman with a prominent hooked nose strode in.

"Senator, I wish you all the best in Washington," the hook-nosed man said simply.

Kennedy looked up and smiled at him, then stood up and gestured for Hooknose to come over.

The two went to the smoking room, where no one was around, making it the perfect place for them to talk about something private.

"Has my letter been delivered?" Kennedy asked.

The man with the hooked nose was no longer as composed as before. When facing the senator alone, he always felt an invisible pressure pressing down on him like a mountain from the other man's eyes.

"Sir, your letter has been delivered to Mr. Adams, but his butler says that his master is going to attend a Republican conference and has no time to deal with your letter."

Kennedy nodded, as if he was not surprised at all by all of this.

After thinking for a few seconds, he asked again, "Is everything ready on your end?"

The man with the hooked nose snapped to attention, slamming his heels together, and shouted, "Everyone's ready!"

He then lowered his voice and said to Senator Kennedy, "Metropolitan Casino has 43 branches in New England, and we have people keeping an eye on them all."

"That's good!" Kennedy nodded and continued, "On that day, do what needs to be done, and don't be soft-hearted. Oh, and by the way, keep it a secret. Make it clear to all your superiors that anyone who dares to leak information will be turned into a blood bird."

Upon hearing the term "blood bird," the hook-nosed man involuntarily swallowed and quickly nodded, saying...
"Don't worry, sir. These guys were all handpicked; there's absolutely no problem with them."

Kennedy nodded slightly and continued, "My friend said $100 would be enough, but I don't want to take the risk. Remember, on that day, bet as much as the betting house allows."

“Yes, sir!” The hook-nosed man raised his voice slightly, as if listening to a personal reprimand from the police chief.

Mr. Kennedy thought for a moment, then, finding nothing more to instruct, waved his hand and said, "This is no small matter. I will reward you if you do it well. But I will not easily forgive anyone who fails... I have nothing else to say. Oh, by the way..."

Kennedy pulled a brown paper envelope from his pocket containing several thick stacks of US dollars, patted it on his hook-nosed chest, and said casually,
"This is the activity fund. After the operation is completed, you should collect the money. I will reward them separately after everything is finished."

“Yes, sir!” The hook-nosed man gripped the brown paper bag tightly with both hands and answered in a louder voice.

Kennedy waved his hand, indicating that he could leave.

The man with the hooked nose silently took three steps back before tucking the brown paper bag under his arm and turning to leave.

Kennedy took a cigar out of his pocket, lit it, stared at the ceiling for a while, and then chuckled, "...So that's why he took out $4300. It turns out that Metropolitan has 43 branches..."

Just then, his son, Joseph Patrick Kennedy, ran over, staring wide-eyed at his father smoking a cigar, then suddenly slapped his forehead and said,
"Dad, Daddy...I want some ice cream!"

Kennedy smiled. He knew that his son had remembered ice cream again, since he always made sure to have a cigar with him whenever he took him out for ice cream.

“My good son, when we get to Washington, I’ll take you to Capitol Hill, show you the White House, and we’ll go eat giant ice cream!” Kennedy said lovingly, ruffling his son’s full head of red hair.

　It's a bit late, but there's nothing I can do. I don't have enough time or energy today. I'll finish all the storylines involving gambling dens tomorrow, and I probably won't go to gambling dens again (I've seen many people feel disgusted by gambling dens).

　　I should... (To be honest, I like betting companies... the leverage is too high, it's so much fun!!)
　　
　
(End of this chapter)