The smile, the arch glance, the ready handshake did so much to restore Dugald Maclean in his own esteem, that he was able to retire with even a touch of swagger, which somehow, in spite of an awkwardness almost comically ursine, sat uncommonly well on such a dashing young policeman.
Indeed, the exit of Constable Maclean came very near the point of bravado. For as he passed the large wicker basket which Kelly had placed on the floor, the young man turned audaciously upon his tormentor. Said he with a grin of sheer defiance:
“What hae ye gotten i’ the basket, Joe?”
“Never you mind. ’Op it.”
Less out of natural curiosity, which however was very great, than a desire to show all whom it might concern that he was again his own man, Dugald Maclean laid his hand on the lid of the basket.
“What hae ye gotten, Joe? Rabbuts?”
“If you must know, it’s a young spannil.” The answer came with rather truculent hesitation.
“A young spannil, eh? I’m thinkin’ I’ll hae a look.”
“Be off about your duty, my lad.” Joe began to look threatening.
“Juist a speir.”