"And if you'll stop at the post-office, this afternoon, you'll find these shells in an envelope in your letter-box.

Now, chase; unless you want Lad to escort you to your boat.

Lad is fine at escorting undesirables off the Place.

Want to see him perform ?" But Wefers did not answer.

Snatching the impotent pistol and shoving it back into his coattail pocket, he strode lakeward, muttering lurid threats as he went.
The Mistress watched his lank figure on its way down the lawn to the dock.
"It's-it's AWFUL!" she faltered, clutching at her husband's arm.