The others waited by the door. John Wesley posted George with a sedate and knowing wink. George eyed these movements of Jeff’s with grave disapproval.
“How often have I heard you denounce precisely such proceedings as these, as the fatal vice of Hamleting!” he jeered. “Flip up a dollar! Or are you going to favor us with a soliloquy?”
Jeff raised his eyes. “I was just trying to remember an old story,” he explained innocently. “My grandfather was a Hudson Bay man, and this story was a John Company tradition when he was a boy. It’s about two canny Scots. That’s what put me in mind of it, Mac being a Scotchman—and in trouble.
“Their names were Kerr and McKensie. One day Kerr upset his canoe in some rapids and lost everything he had but his clothes and his sheath-knife. But at dark he happened on McKensie’s camp, and stayed the night with him. McKensie had a good outfit—canoe, rifle, grub, traps, and a big bundle of furs. He had also a deserved reputation for shrewdness and thrift. And in the night they got to trading.
“When morning came McKensie had the sheath-knife and Kerr had everything else. McKensie would never explain what happened. When asked about it he looked a little dazed. He said, with marked emphasis:
“‘Yon is a verra intelligent pairson!’ The moral is, You’ve got to be careful with a Scotchman.”
“You get out!” said George indignantly. “Go gather the Judge. I’ll ’tend to Mac.”
“All right,” said Jeff. “We’ll go. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Judge Thorpe was particularly well pleased with himself. After a prosperous and profitable day and a pleasant evening at his club, he bethought himself of his old relentless enemy, obesity, and made his way to the Turkish baths.