“Eh? No: never mind that,” said The Mackhai hastily. “Coming down to stay with us a bit. Regular London boy. Not in very good health. You must be civil to him, Ken, and show him about a bit.”
“Yes, father,” said Kenneth, who felt from his father’s manner that the coming guest was not welcome.
“He is coming by Glasgow, and then by the Grenadier. His father thinks the sea will do him good. Go and meet him.”
“Yes, father.”
“Tell them to get a room ready for him.”
“Yes, father.”
“Be as civil to him as you can, and—Pah!”
That ejaculation, pah! came like an angry outburst, as The Mackhai gave the table a sharp blow, and rose and strode out of the room.
Kenneth sat watching the door for a few moments.
“Father’s savage because he’s coming,” said Kenneth, whose eyes then fell upon a glass dish of marmalade, and, cutting a goodly slice of bread, he spread it with the yellow butter, and then spooned out a portion of the amber-hued preserve.