Downing was apt to get
jumpy beyond the ordinary on such occasions. All that was wrong with
MacPhee, as a matter of fact, was a very fair stomachache, the direct
and legitimate result of eating six buns, half a coconut, three
doughnuts, two ices, an apple, and a pound of cherries, and washing the
lot down with tea. But Mr. Downing saw in his attack the beginnings of
some deadly scourge which would sweep through and decimate the house. He
had dispatched Adair for the doctor, and, after spending a few minutes
prowling restlessly about his room, was now standing at his front gate,
waiting for Adair's return.
It came about, therefore, that Mike, sprinting lightly in the direction
of home and safety, had his already shaken nerves further maltreated by
being hailed, at a range of about two yards, with a cry of "Is that you,
Adair?" The next moment Mr. Downing emerged from his gate.
Mike stood not upon the order of his going. He was off like an arrow--a
flying figure of Guilt. Mr. Downing, after the first surprise, seemed to
grasp the situation. Ejaculating at intervals the words, "Who is that?
Stop! Who is that? Stop!" he dashed after the much-enduring Wrykynian at
an extremely creditable rate of speed.
Pages:
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142