"I was asking," said the Laird, "because I was wondering whether there was any chance of tracing them."
"Not the least. They are like bank-notes—more useful indeed, to a swindler than even bank-notes."
"Ay, is that so?" said the Laird; and he seemed to be so charmed with his whistling of the air of Queen's Maries that he returned to that performance. Oddly enough, however, he never ventured beyond the first line: perhaps he was afraid of missing the tune.
"Seven thousand, three hundred," said he, meditatively. "Man, that's a strong cigar—little, and black, and strong. Seven thousand, three hundred. Girls are strange craytures. I remember what that young Doctor was saying once about weemen being better able to bear pain than men, and not so much afraid of it either——"
And here the Queen's Maries came in again.
"It would be a strange thing," said the Laird, with a sort of rueful laugh, "if I were to have a steam yacht all to myself, and cruise about in search of company, eh? No, no; that will not do. My neighbours in Strathgovan will never say that I deserted them, just when great improvements and serious work have to be looked forward to. I will not have it said that I ran away, just to pleasure myself. Howard, my lad," he added, imaginatively addressing his absent nephew, "I doubt but ye'll have to whistle for that steam yacht."
The Laird rose.
"I think I will smoke in the garden now: it is a fine evening."
He turned at the door, and seemed suddenly to perceive a pair of stag's horns over the chimney-piece.
"That's a grand set o' horns," said he; and then he added carelessly, "What bank did ye say they American bonds were in?"