This had far from the desired effect.
The constable replied proudly, looking from one to the other for admiration:
“Hif it was my juty Hi’d ’ave ’ad ter kill ’im.” He put the straw hat on his head with an air.
“Duty! How dare you shoot a man just because you see him alone on the road at night!”
“Yes, ma’am. But, you see, ma’am, constable Gardner and me, we was sent out to-night to look for a tramp. That’s hon account of some busybody thinkin’ they seen ’im ’ereabouts this very hevenin’. So they tells the chief, and ’e sends us, me an’ Gardner,—my nyme bein’ Marks, Halfred Marks, Halfred Marks” (he touched his hat-brim to each in turn). “An’ so we comes beatin’ hit along hup the valley. An’ w’en Hi seen ’im on the porch....”
Rosamond made an exclamation of alarm.
“You—you saw...?”
“Be careful,” her patient whispered.
“Yes, ma’am. I seen ’im standin’ on the railin’ as I come up the road. And, considerin’ the time o’ night, hit looked queer—to me.” His expression defied them to criticise his angle of vision.
“Why—why ...” Mrs. Mearely began, feeling for words that eluded her. The vagabond came to her aid.