sententiously.
There was no mistaking his meaning.

"I heard you, sir," hesitated the collector--"_I_ heard you diSTINCTly,
but in cases of this kind there is--"

St. George swung back the door and stood waiting. No man living or dead
had ever doubted the word of St. George Wilmot Temple, not even by
a tone of the voice, and Gadgem's was certainly suggestive of a
well-defined and most offensive doubt. Todd moved up closer; Dandy rose
to his feet, thinking he might be of use. The little man looked from
one to the other. He might add an action for assault and battery to the
claim, but that would delay its collection.

"Then at TWELVE o'clock, to-morrow, Mr. Temple," he purred blandly.

"At twelve o'clock!" repeated St. George coldly, wondering which end of
the intruder he would grapple when he threw him through the front door
and down the front steps.

"I will be here on the stroke of the clock, sir--on the STROKE," and
Gadgem slunk out.

For some minutes St. George continued to walk up and down the room,
stooping once in a while to caress the setter; dry-washing his hands;
tapping his well-cut waistcoat with his shapely fingers, his thumbs
in the arm-holes; halting now and then to stretch himself to the
full height of his body. He had outwitted the colonel--taught him a
lesson--let him see that he was not the only "hound in the pack," and,
best of all, he had saved the boy from annoyance and possibly from
disgrace.

He was still striding up and down the room, when Harry, who had
overslept himself as usual, came down to breakfast. Had some friend of
his uncle found a gold mine in the back yard--or, better still, had Todd
just discovered a forgotten row of old "Brahmin Madeira" in some dark
corner of his cellar--St. George could not have been more buoyant.

"Glad you didn't get up any earlier, you good-for-nothing sleepy-head!"
he cried in welcoming, joyous tones. "You have just missed that
ill-smelling buzzard."

"What buzzard?" asked Harry, glancing over the letters on the mantel in
the forlorn hope of finding one from Kate.

"Why, Gadgem--and that is the last you will ever see of him."

"Why?--has father paid him?" he asked in a listless way, squeezing
Dandy's nose thrust affectionately into his hand--his mind still on
Kate. Now that Willits was with her, as every one said, she would never
write him again. He was a fool to expect it, he thought, and he sighed
heavily.

"Of course he hasn't paid him--but