The man looked sullenly out of the window.
“Five-foot-ten, sir,” my uncle repeated, with some cheerfulness.
“Top,” was the vicious response, “you invite assassination.”
My uncle put his hand on my shoulder. “’Tis not fit for ye t’ see, lad,” says he. “Ye’d best be off t’ the fresh air. ’Tis so wonderful stuffy here that ye’ll be growin’ pale an ye don’t look out. An’ I’m not wantin’ ye t’ see me knock a man down,” he repeated, with feeling. “I’m not wantin’ ye even t’ think that I’d do an unkind thing like that.”
I moved to go.
“Now, sir!” cries my uncle to the stranger.
As I closed the door behind me the man was passing with snarling lips to the precise spot my uncle had indicated....