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 father, "that I quite agree with you. I am afraid," he went on, looking at the back of his hand, "that Jason does not take me sesiously. I fear he will find he is wrong. Brutus!"

Brutus, apparently anticipating something pleasant, moved towards my father's chair.

"My pistols, Brutus. And it is growing dark. You had best draw the shutters and bring in the candles. We're sailing very close to the wind this evening. Listen to me carefully, Brutus. You will have the cutter by the bar at eight o'clock, and in five minutes you will bring out my horse."

"What's the horse for?" asked Mr. Aiken.

My father settled himself back more comfortably in his chair before he answered. A few drops of wine had spilled on the mahogany. He touched them, and held up his fingers and looked thoughtfully at the stain.

"Because I propose to ride through them," he said. "I propose showing our friends—how shall I put it so you'll understand?—that I don't care a damn for the whole pack."

"Gad!" murmured Mr. Aiken. "I might have known it. And here I was thinking