Chapter Twelve.
A Lesson from Max.
“Caught a twenty-two-pound salmon, eh?” said The Mackhai, looking up from a letter he was reading.
“He thinks he caught it, father,” said Kenneth, laughing; and, as they stood waiting in the dining-room, the boy related the adventure of the day, and how they had, after changing, gone for a long tramp across the mountain slope, and chased the hares. “Well, be civil to him, Ken. Remember we are gentlemen. And even if he is the son of a miserable shark of a lawyer, let his father learn that the Mackhais can do good for evil.”
Kenneth stared wonderingly in his father’s face. “What does it all mean?” he thought, and he noted the lines of trouble and annoyance deepening as The Mackhai let his eye fall upon his letter once more.
“My father must hate his father,” thought Kenneth; “and he is too much of a gentleman to show his dislike to his son. Why does he have him here, then? A stupid, girlish muff of a fellow! One’s obliged to laugh at him, poor beggar!”
The Mackhai doubled up his letter angrily, and thrust it into his pocket.
“Did that boy hear the gong?” he said peevishly.