lady. Seems to me I’ve heard they were scrappers.”
“Bad, bad Williams,” said Reeves, pouring out more “Scotch.”
The two men spoke lightly, but the consul saw and felt the tension and the carefulness in their actions and words. “Good old fellows,” he said to himself; “they’re both all right. Each of ’em is standing by the other like a little brick church.”
And then a dog walked into the room where they sat—a black-and-tan hound, long-eared, lazy, confident of welcome.
Plunkett turned his head and looked at the animal, which halted, confidently, within a few feet of his chair.
Suddenly the sheriff, with a deep-mouthed oath, left his seat and bestowed upon the dog a vicious and heavy kick, with his ponderous shoe.
The hound, heart-broken, astonished, with flapping ears and incurved tail, uttered a piercing yelp of pain and surprise.
Reeves and the consul remained in their chairs, saying nothing, but astonished at the unexpected show of intolerance from the easy-going man from Chatham county.
But Morgan, with a suddenly purpling face, leaped to his feet and raised a threatening arm above the guest.
“You—brute!” he shouted, passionately; “why did you do that?”
Quickly the amenities returned, Plunkett muttered some indistinct apology and regained his seat. Morgan
