Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant
page 28 of 317 (08%)
page 28 of 317 (08%)
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crooked forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask
peered from beneath the chair. "Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadna permit me. 'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!" he spoke half to himself, and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his nationality; "it's yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a puir Scotsman by the throat. A poun'! and for yon!" He wagged his head mournfully, cocking it sideways the better to scan his subject. "Take him or leave him," ordered the drover truculently, still gazing out of the window. "Wi' yer permission I'll leave him," M'Adam answered meeldy. "I'm short o' the ready," the big man pursued, "or I wouldna part with him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a tenner for one o' that bree--" he caught himself up hastily--" for a dog sic as that." "And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!" Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip and quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his coat before him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild beast sprang out, seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it savagely. M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the puppy, suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then, |
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