wonder whether 'twas
rage or fear had mastered him: I could not tell, but mightily wished
to determine, since it seemed that some encounter impended. "Ye're an
unkind man," says he, in a passionless way, to the gray stranger, who
was now once more seated at his desk, fingering the litter of
documents. "Ye've broke your word t' me. I must punish ye for the evil
ye've done this lad. I'll not ask ye what ye've told un till I haves
my way with ye; but then," he declared, his voice betraying a tremor
of indignation, "I'll have the talk out o' ye, word for word!" The
gray stranger was agitated, but would not look up from his aimlessly
wandering hand to meet my uncle's lowering, reproachful eyes.
"Dannie," says my uncle, continuing in gentle speech, "pass the
cushion from the big chair. Thank 'e, lad. I'm not wantin' the man t'
hurt his head." He cast the cushion to the floor. "Now, sir," says
he, gently, "an ye'll be good enough t' step within five-foot-ten o'
that there red cushion, I'll knock ye down an' have it over with."

The man looked sullenly out of the window.

"Five-foot-ten, sir," my uncle repeated, with some cheerfulness.

"Top," was the vicious response, "you invite assassination."

My uncle put his hand on my shoulder. "'Tis not fit for ye t' see,
lad," says he. "Ye'd best be off t' the fresh air. 'Tis so wonderful
stuffy here that ye'll be growin' pale an ye don't look out. An' I'm
not wantin' ye t' see me knock a man down," he repeated, with feeling.
"I'm not wantin' ye even t' _think_ that I'd do an unkind thing like
that."

I moved to go.

"Now, sir!" cries my uncle to the stranger.

As I closed the door behind me the man was passing with snarling lips
to the precise spot my uncle had indicated....

XX

NO APOLOGY

My uncle knocked on my door at the hotel and, without waiting to be
bidden, thrust in his great, red, bristling, monstrously scarred head.
'Twas an intrusion most diffident and fearful: he was like a
mischievous boy come for chastisement.

"You here, Dannie?" he gently inquired.

"Come in, sir," says I.

'Twas awkwardly--with a bashful grin and halting, doubtful step--that
he stumped in.

"Comfortable?" he asked, looking about. "No complaint t' make ag'in
this here hotel?"

I had no complaint.

"Not troubled, is you?"

I was not troubled.

"Isn't bothered, is you?" he pursued, with an inviting wink. "Not
bothered about nothin', lad, is you?"

Nor bothered.

"C