"Look at them ... look at them!" he shouted. "Perhaps you can tell me the meaning of them."
David took the papers. He pushed back a chair, staring at them.
"Curse McNab!" he muttered. "He promised me—"
"Curb your tongue in this house!" Donald Cameron took a step forward. "Have you anything to say to these bills? McNab says you've had credit for a couple of hundred pounds."
Davey's head cleared. The sight of his father's face, livid with rage, raised a demon in him.
"Yes," he said, "there's a couple of drinks I had to-day not charged for."
"You insolent young blackguard!" Donald Cameron cried, careless of words in his anger. "Is this the sort of son I've got—goes robbing me behind my back, drinking with pothouse boys, lags and thieves? I thought you could be trusted to take charge of my interests while I was ill."
"Stop that!" Davey's nostrils quivered ominously.
"Thought you could play the young lord ... and McNab comes telling me—"
"I'll wring McNab's neck!"