"You mean," said Garry keenly, "that when you rapped you'd been
hypnotized by the justice of your own case and felt a little reckless."

Kenny drew himself up splendidly and glared at Garry through a cloud of
smoke.

"Piffle!" said Garry. "No stately stuff for me, Kenny, please. It's
late and I'm tired. I'll referee this thing in my own way. I
repeat--it's not just the shotgun. It's everything he owns."

"What for instance?" inquired Kenny, dangerously polite.

"His money, his clothes and his girls!" enumerated Garry brutally.
"You even pawned his fishing rods and golf clubs."

"I sent him a fern," said Kenny, affronted. "Did he even water it?
No!"

"I think I paid for it," said Brian.

"Has he ever given me the proper degree of respect. No! He calls
me--Kenny!"

Garry laughed aloud at the wrathful search for grievance. It was not
always easy to remember that Kenny had eloped at twenty with the young
wife who had died when his son was born; and that his son was
twenty-three.

"Go on," said Kenny. "Laugh your fool head off. I'm merely stating