"All right! I'm through—forever."
The Laird bent his beetling brows upon Nan. "And you?" he demanded. "Have you finished?"
She came to him and laid her soft cheek against his. "You funny old man," she whispered. "Did you ever hear that I had begun?"
"Well, nae, I have not—now that you mention it. And, by the way, my dear! Referring to my grandson's half-brother?"
"Yes."
"I understand he's a McKaye."
"Yes, Donald has legally adopted him."
"Well, then, I'll accept him as an adopted grandson, my dear. I think there'll be money enough for everybody. But about this scalawag of a man that fathered him. I'll have to know who he is. We have a suit of zebra clothing waiting for him, my dear."
"No, you haven't, Father McKaye. My boy's father is never going to be a convict. That man has other children, too."
"I'm going to have a glass frame made and in it I'm going to arrange photographic reproductions of all the documents in Nan's case," Donald stated. "The history of the case will all be there, then, with the exception, of course, of the name of the man. In deference to Nan's desires I will omit that. Then I'll have that case screwed into the wall of the post-office lobby where all Port Agnew can see and understand—"