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Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant
page 28 of 317 (08%)
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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