“Hoots, Mon Sandy!”
“I’ll go straight to y’r Grandfer the noo, and if ye’r not flayed alive! Aye! I’ll gang the noo to Himself——”
“Wi’ fower an twanty men, an’ five an’ thairrty pipers,” suggested Dam in tuneful song.
Mr. Alastair Kenneth MacIlwraith did what he rarely did—swore violently.
“Do you think at your age it is right?” quoted the wicked boy … the exceedingly bad and reprehensible boy.
The maddened gardener turned and strode to the house with all his imperfections on his head and face and neck.
Taking no denial from Butterson, he forced his way into the presence of his master and clamoured for instant retributive justice—or the acceptance of his resignation forthwith, and him twanty-twa years in the ane place.
“Grandfather,” roused from slumber, gouty, liverish, ferociously angry, sent for Dam, Sergeant Havlan, and Sergeant Havlan’s cane.
“What’s the meaning of this, Sir,” he roared as Dam, cool, smiling, friendly ever, entered the Sanctum. “What the Devil d’ye mean by it, eh? Wreckin’ my orchid-houses, assaultin’ my servants, waking me up, annoying ME! Seven days C.B.[[15]] and bread and water, on each count. What d’ye mean by it, ye young hound? Eh? Answer me before I have ye flogged to death to teach ye better manners! Guilty or Not Guilty? and I’ll take your word for it.”
[15] Confined to barracks.