It's a pity no bullion trucks pass this way.

Still, parasols and picnic lunches aren't to be sneered at." Lad was standing in the study doorway, eyes alight, tail waving.

The Master called him over and petted him; praising this newest accomplishment of his, and prophesying untold wealth for the Place if the graft should but continue long enough.
There was something pathetic in dear old Laddie's pleasure over the new trick he had learned; or so it seemed to the two people who loved him.
And they continued to flatter him for it;--even when, among other trophies, he dragged home a pickaxe momentarily laid aside by a road mender; and an extremely dead chicken which a motor-truck wheel had flattened to waferlike thickness.
Which brings us, by degrees to the Rennick kidnaping case.
Claude Rennick, a New York artist of considerable means, had rented for the summer an ancient Colonial farmhouse high among the Ramapo hills; some six miles north of the Place, There, he and his pretty young wife and their six-months-old baby had been living for several weeks; when, angered at a sharp rebuke for some dereliction in his work, Schwartz, their gardener, spoke insultingly to Mrs.Rennick.
Rennick chanced to overhear.

Being aggressively in love with his wife, he did not content himself with discharging Schwartz.

Instead, he thrashed the stalwart gardener, then and there; and ended the drastic performance by pitching the beaten man, bodily, out of the grounds.
Schwartz collected his battered anatomy and limped away to his home in the hills just above.