to earth then, Murray—and a pop-gun or two at the end of it.”
“My lad, you’re a rip,” muttered Murray underbreath. “And Father Denis wants the handling of you! He’ll need gloves for it!”
Guise pushed open the side-door, and blinked round the room uncertainly. He was a “remittance man,” and that carries its own stigma in the Colonies.
“Blanky Revivalist Meeting?” he inquired politely. “Who’s doin’ the prayin’?”
“I am,” said Mogger. “Me dad’s talkin’ o’ marryin’ agin, an’ I’m prayin’ fur suthin’ as’ll stop him. Two granddads an’ a granny! I got the up-keep o’ them a’reddy. I can’t stand any more.”
Guise crossed to Roddy’s corner, and his blaring voice rose.
“I’ll show yer suthin’ as I can’t stand any more. Git out o’ this, you flappin’ box-man! Think I sat wi’ my head agin that wall for six years ter be turned out by you!” He caught Roddy by the collar, forcing his startled face to the grease-smudge on the wall. “Think I hall-marked it that way fur you?”
Tod received Roddy as Guise punted him across the room, and gave him the space on the floor between his own boots and Murray’s. There was neither authority nor conversation in Murray this night. He was dog-tired after a bitter ten days’ chase which had brought Dick
