Colonel Osbourne, wheeling about to demand some explanation of
his kennel-manager, beheld a bare hand as vividly crimson as
Lochaber King's ruined coat.
"Laddie," observed the Mistress, that evening, as she placed on
the top trophy-shelf an embossed silver cup, antique, and nine
inches high, and stood back pride fully, to note the effect.
"Laddie, I know--I just KNOW,--you'd have won it, even if poor
Lochaber King had competed. But,--oh, I wish I could make head or
tail of any of the things that have happened, today! How do you
suppose it all started, anyhow, dear?" she asked, turning to her
husband for help in the riddle.
"I'd be willing to bet a year's pay it 'all started' about six
feet from shore in this lake," responded the Master, "and about a
fortnight ago."
But he spoke it in the depths of his own guiltily exultant heart.
Outwardly, he merely grinned; and said with vacuous conviction:
"Laddie, you're a grand dog. And,--if you didn't win that cup
from Lochaber King in one way, you certainly won it in another!"
CHAPTER IV. Hero-Stuff
Life was monstrous pleasant, for Lad, at the Place.
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