"Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed. "The funniest tike, that youngster of
mine! Did you ever hear the like? Let me tell you. He was down
playing by the edge of the river when a piece of the bank caved in
and splashed him. 'O papa!' he cried; 'a great big puddle flewed
up and hit me.'"

He stopped and waited for me to join him in his infernal glee.

"I don't see any laugh in it," I said shortly, and I know my face
went sour.

He regarded me with wonderment, and then came the damnable light,
glowing and spreading, as I have described it, till his face shone
soft and warm, like the summer moon, and then the laugh--"Ha! ha!
That's funny! You don't see it, eh? He! he! Ho! ho! ho! He doesn't
see it! Why, look here. You know a puddle--"

But I turned on my heel and left him. That was the last. I could
stand it no longer. The thing must end right there, I thought, curse
him! The earth should be quit of him. And as I went over the hill, I
could hear his monstrous laugh reverberating against the sky.

Now, I pride myself on doing things neatly, and when I resolved to
kill John Claverhouse I had it in mind to do so in such fashion that
I should not look back upon it and feel ashamed. I hate bungling,
and I hate brutality. To me there is something repugnant in merely
striking a man with one's naked fist--faugh! it is sickening! So, to
shoot, or stab, or club John Claverhouse (oh, that name!) did not
appeal to me. And not only was I impelled to do it neatly and
artistically, but also in such manner that not the slightest