tossed it across the table, “If I see you on Mains again I’ll set the dogs on you,” he said. “You may go.”
Art pushed back the bandage as Randal passed to the outer door.
“Think I’ve got good interest for this, Randal,” he cried. “Randal—you’ve forgotten your cheque.”
But only a spatter of wet wind and torn leaves licked over the verandah in answer.
“And that’s done with,” said Art Scannell then. “Ship Effie down to town for a month or two, pater, and give her plenty of rope, and I’ll guarantee Randal will find his hash settled for keeps.”
“You will hold your tongue about this matter, Arthur,” said Scannell, looking straightly at his son.
Art paused with his hand on the door-knob.
“My dear pater,” he said cheerfully, “don’t you fret. I know a thing or two.”
