"And it ain't some one we know?"
With a wave of his pipe, Jamie dismissed all hypothetical hatchets, and returned to the more sensible contemplation of the sky line.
Rosie felt that she was being trifled with. She gazed at her father meaningly.
"Well, what would you say to a man who chased his wife with a butcher-knife?"
Again Jamie took an exasperating time to answer, and again his answer took the form of the question: "Is it some one we know, Rosie?"
Rosie threw discretion to the winds. "I'm sure you ought to know whether it's some one we know!"
Jamie blinked his eyes slowly and thoughtfully. "I don't seem to place him, Rosie."
Rosie left him in disgust. Brutality is bad enough, but hypocrisy is worse. She went as far as the kitchen door, then turned back. She would give him one more chance.
Again smiling, she put her arms about his neck. "Say, Dad, if you was to get awful mad at me, what would you do?"
"At you, do you say, Rosie? Well, now, I don't see how any one could get awful mad at you."