Bob, son of Battle . nswered angrily. MAdam leant back in his chair and nodded his head. Ay, they tellt me that gin ony man knew twad beDavid MAdam. David strode across the room. No, no mair o that, he shouted. Yought to beshamed, an owd mon like you, to speak so o a little man edged close up to his son, and looked upinto the fair flushed face towering above him. iS4 LAD AND LASS David, he said in smooth soft tones, Im stonishedye dinna strike yer auld dad. He stood with his handsclasped behind his back as if daring the young giant toraise a finger against him. Ye maist might noo, hec
Bob, son of Battle . nswered angrily. MAdam leant back in his chair and nodded his head. Ay, they tellt me that gin ony man knew twad beDavid MAdam. David strode across the room. No, no mair o that, he shouted. Yought to beshamed, an owd mon like you, to speak so o a little man edged close up to his son, and looked upinto the fair flushed face towering above him. iS4 LAD AND LASS David, he said in smooth soft tones, Im stonishedye dinna strike yer auld dad. He stood with his handsclasped behind his back as if daring the young giant toraise a finger against him. Ye maist might noo, hecontinued suavely. Ye maun be sax inches taller, and agood four stane heavier. Hooiver, aiblins yere wise towait. Anither year twa I 11 be an auld man, as ye say, andfeebler, and Wullie here11 be gettin on, while youll bein the prime o yer strength. Then I think ye might hitme wi* safety to your person, and honour to yourself. He took a pace back, smiling. Feyther, said David, huskily, one day yoll driveme too far. #^. CHAPTER XX THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING THE spring was passing, marked throughout with thebloody trail of the Killer. The adventure in theScoop scared him for a while into innocuousness; then heresumed his game again with redoubled zest. It seemedlikely he would harry the district till some lucky accidentcarried him off, for all chance there was of arresting could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms andelsewhere the assertion, delivered with the same dogmaticcertainty as of old, Its the Terror, I tell yo! and thatirritating, inevitable reply. Ay; but wheers the proof?While often, at the same moment, in a house not far away,a little lonely man was sitting before a low-burnt fire,rocking to and fro, biting his nails, and muttering to thegreat dog whose head lay between his knees: If we hadbut the proof, Wullie! if we had but the proof! Id givema right hand affmy arm gin we had the proof Kirby, who was always for war when some one elsfe 185
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