and Macpherson had written out his own biography for it. He was
intensely proud of his pedigree and his relations, and in his narrative
made out that he was descended from the original Fhairshon
who swam round Noah's Ark with his title-deeds in his teeth.
He showed how his people had fought under Alexander the Great and Timour,
and had come over to Scotland some centuries before William the Conqueror
landed in England. He proved that he was related in a general way
to one emperor, fifteen kings, twenty-five dukes, and earls and lords
and viscounts innumerable. And then, after all, the editor
of "Remarkable Colonials" managed to mix him up with some other fellow,
some low-bred Irish McPherson, born in Dublin of poor but honest parents.

It was a terrible outrage. Macpherson became president of
the Western District Branch of the "Remarkable Colonials" Defence League,
a fierce and homicidal association got up to resist, legally and otherwise,
paying for the book. He had further sworn by all he held sacred
that every canvasser who came to harry him in future should die,
and had put up a notice on his office-door, "Canvassers come in
at their own risk."

He had a dog of what he called the Hold'em breed, who could tell
a canvasser by his walk, and would go for him on sight.
The reader will understand, therefore, that, when the Genius and his mate
proposed to start on Macpherson, they were laying out a capacious contract
for the Cast-iron Canvasser, and could only have been inspired by a morbid
craving for excitement, aided by the influence of backblock whisky.

The Inventor wound the figure up in the back parlour of the pub.
There were a frightful lot of screws to tighten before the thing
would work, but at last he said it was ready, and they shambled off