Put such dogs
under observation, if necessary; and then--"
"You talk like a fool!" snorted Wefers, in lofty contempt. "I--"
"But I am going to keep you from acting like a fool," returned
the Master, his hard-held temper beginning to fray. "You say
you've come over here to shoot my dog. If ever anyone shoots Lad,
I'll be the man to do it. And I'll have to have lots better
reason for it than--"
"Go ahead, then!" vouchsafed the constable, fishing out a rusty
service pistol from his coat-tail pocket. "Go ahead and do it
yourself, then; if you'd rather. It's all one to me, so long's
it's done."
With sardonic politeness, he proffered the bulky weapon. The
Master caught it from his hand and flung it a hundred feet away,
into the center of a clump of lilacs.
"So much for the gun!" he blazed, advancing an the astounded
Wefers. "Now, unless you want to follow it--"
"Dear!" expostulated the Mistress, her sweet voice atremble.
"I'm an of'cer of the law!" blustered the offended constable; in
the same breath adding
"And resisting an of'cer in the p'soot of his dooty is a misde--"
He checked himself, unconsciously turning to observe the odd
actions of Lad.
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