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

Chapter 55 Give Me a Revolver (Seeking Monthly Tickets and Recommendations)
Larry withdrew $20 from the accountant for travel expenses and was about to head out to take a horse-drawn carriage when he suddenly realized he hadn't brought his handgun.

He always carried his M1889 Bodeau pistol under his arm with a sling, but last night he found it uncomfortable to sleep in, so he threw it under his pillow.

When Larry got up in the morning, he changed his clothes and went out, but he forgot his gun in the apartment and didn't take it with him.

Go back and get the gun now?

However, Larry immediately realized that he used to carry a gun because he always had a large sum of money, two or three thousand dollars, but now, even with the travel expenses he had just withdrawn, he only had a little over 320 dollars in cash.

The extra money was all converted into stocks on the trading list.

Forget it! Larry no longer considers $300 a lot of money. He feels it's not worth running back to his apartment to get his handgun, so he might as well go straight to the train station.

Larry took a horse-drawn carriage to Boston Central Station, paid $1 for the ride, and then went straight to the ticket office to buy a ticket for the 11:00 AM train that passed through Hartford.

First class, of course, only costs $8.

Sitting in the first-class carriage, surrounded by well-dressed gentlemen and ladies, Larry's clothes weren't particularly high-end, but his long experience dealing with major clients at the securities firm gave him the poise and presence to command the scene.

The train arrived in Hartford after a 7-hour and 50-minute journey, but it was already 6:30 p.m. and dark.

Following Mr. Wallace's instructions, Larry found a hotel to stay in that night, and then hired a carriage to go to the Colt Firearms Company at 7 a.m. the next morning.

It was Wednesday, and the Colt duty manager was someone Larry didn't know. Larry explained his purpose to him, and the latter immediately called the executives.

Not long after, Mr. Harper, who had taken Mr. Wallace and Larry to test the gun last time, appeared. He recognized Larry at a glance.

Larry handed the suitcase containing the documents to Mr. Harper and, as instructed by Mr. Wallace, explained the key points and other details of the documents.

Mr. Harper listened and nodded, then told Larry to wait there while he went into the main office building to deliver the relevant documents.

Soon after, the phone rang. Mr. Harper told Larry to wait until 3 p.m., when the supervisor would be back.

Larry took a carriage back to the town closest to Colt, first sending a telegram to Mr. Wallace at the telegraph office to explain the situation, before sitting down to rest.

About half an hour later, Mr. Wallace called back, asking him to come to Colt Company early in the afternoon to wait for a reply.

After having a steak dinner at noon, Larry hired a horse-drawn carriage at 1 p.m. and went to Colt Company again.

The security guards were familiar with him and politely let him into the reception hall to wait. As soon as Larry entered the room, he saw the reception manager changing shifts, with Matthew Browning sitting in his duty office wearing a metal pony logo.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Browning!" Larry stepped forward and greeted him with a smile.

Matthew looked up and saw Larry, a smile spreading across his face. He had a strong impression of Larry; after all, he was a handsome young man, humble, and always smiling—charming to both men and women.

“Oh, my brother, you’re here to do something big again.” Matthew stood up and patted Larry on the shoulder affectionately.

Larry knew that Matthew was the brother of the famous gunsmith John Browning, and since he himself liked guns, he struck up a conversation with Matthew.

Around noon, there were no visitors from Colt Company. Matthew, with his excellent memory, and Larry, with his extensive knowledge of firearms from his previous life, chatted amiably.

When things got interesting, Larry expressed a strong interest in Colt revolvers.

Matthew's eyes lit up, and he abruptly looked up, asking seriously, "Are you interested? Want to try out a revolver?"

Larry was taken aback, then his face lit up with joy. "Can you get it for me?" Matthew gave a childlike smile and pointed to the pony logo on his suit. "I'm a senior technician at Colt. I can buy our company's guns at internal prices. If you're talking about more than a hundred guns, I can't help you, but buying one or two is a piece of cake."

As he spoke, Matthew called over an assistant to take his place, while he led Larry to a small cubicle outside the factory warehouse.

This small cubicle is just like the break room in a typical American factory, except that the glass display cases inside are filled with all kinds of firearms, from long guns to short guns, and they are basically all Colt's own products.

In front of the counter, a big, fat man with a full beard leaned against the door and chatted with someone.

"Masich, give me a revolver!" Matthew called out to the man.

Colt has a strong gun culture; it's easier for employees to buy guns than for cooks to steal meat. The fat man didn't seem to care, and gestured for Matthew and Larry to go into the cubicle.

Larry followed Matthew into the small cubicle and began to examine the sophisticated weapons up close.

The weapons in this small compartment could practically be a mini gun museum, ranging from pistols from the American Civil War to rapid-fire rifles used by cowboys in the West, to shotguns used by deer hunters, to rifles currently in use by the US military—it has everything.

Larry looked at it for a long time, but still focused his attention on the Colt M1889 revolver, because this pistol best matched Larry's imagination of American guns in his previous life.

Matthew nodded, snapped his fingers, pointed to the revolver on the counter, and said to the fat man, "Give me one, plus 100 bullets!"

Without saying a word, the fat man took out a wooden box containing a gleaming silver-plated revolver, and then took out two boxes of .38 caliber bullets from the cabinet.

Larry noticed that Colt's ammunition box was made of balsa wood.

"A revolver is $12, and 100 rounds of ammunition is $5," the fat man said.

How much does this gun cost? Larry could hardly believe his ears. He had heard Colt quote the U.S. Navy $120 a set.

Although that also included other accessories such as bullets, holsters, and maintenance supplies.

But shouldn't the bulk of the cost of a gun set be the weapon itself? How come Colt's internal sales price is only $12?

"Oh, when it comes to making money, you guys are really ruthless..." Larry exclaimed.

But it happened in an instant. Before Matthew could speak, Larry had already slapped the $20 in his pocket onto the counter.

The fat man didn't take the money; instead, he looked at Matthew with an inquiring gaze.

Matthew smiled and nodded, explaining to Larry, "The pistol is at cost price; I didn't make a penny off you. But the bullets are the same price as outside."

“Then I’ve gotten a great deal! Thank you, Matthew,” Larry said with a smile.

Matthew waved his hand before turning around and gesturing for the fat man to take the $20.

The fat man counted out $3 from the cash box and gave it back to Larry.

Larry slapped his forehead, then suddenly remembered something. "Matthew, but I'm not old enough to carry a gun. If I go out with this handgun like this, won't the police question me?"

In most eastern states of the United States, gun owners are required to carry firearms concealed, and the legal right to own a gun is only granted after the age of 18. American police are very strict about this; however, this strictness refers to situations where the police are present but not present, or where the gun owner conceals their weapon on a train or to a church, in which case no one intervenes.

Matthew waved his hand. "That's easy. I'll give you a Colt customer certificate later. At least you won't be bothered by the police in Connecticut. But I don't know what the situation will be like back in Massachusetts."

(End of this chapter)