elled him into the room.

XLVII

Nan was right. His grandson was there, but strange to relate he was
seated, as naked as Venus (save for a diaper) on his grandmother's
lap.

Hector McKaye paused and glared at his wife.

"Damn it, Nellie," he roared, "what the devil do you mean by this?"

"I'm tired of being an old fool, Hector," she replied meekly, and held
the baby up for his inspection.

"It's time you were," he growled. "Come here, you young rascal till I
heft you. By the gods of war, he's a McKaye!" He hugged the squirming
youngster to his heart and continued to glare at his wife as if she
were a hardened criminal. "Why didn't you tell me you felt yourself
slipping?" he demanded. "Out with it, Nellie."

"There will be no post-mortems," Nan interdicted. "Mother McKaye and
Elizabeth and Jane and I patched up our difficulties when Donald came
home yesterday. How we did it or what transpired before we did it,
doesn't matter, you dear old snooper."

"What? Elizabeth and Jane? Unconditional surrender?"

She nodded smilingly and The Laird admitted his entire willingness to
be--jiggered. Finally, having inspected his grandson, he turned for an
equally minute inspection of his soldier son under the lamplight.

"Three service stripes and one wound stripe," he murmured. "And
you're not crippled, boy dear?"

"Do I fight like one? Hector, man, those punches of yours would have
destroyed a battalion of cripples. Oh, you old false-alarm! Honestly,
Dad, you're the most awful dub imaginable. And trying to bribe me into
permitting you to escape--what the deuce have you been monkeying with?
You reek of ammonia--here, go away from my son. You're poison."

The Laird ignored him. "What's that ribbon?" he demanded.

"Distinguished Service Cross."

"You must have bought it in a pawnshop. And that thing?"

"Croix de Guerre."

"And that red one?"

"Legion d'Honneur."

A pause. "What did Dirty Dan get, son?"

"The one thing in the world he thought he despised. The Congressional
Medal of Honor for valor in saving the life of a British colonel, who,
by the way, happens to be an Orangeman. When he discovered it he
wanted to bayonet the colonel and I won the Croix de Guerre for
stopping him."

"Oh, cease your nonsense, Donald," his wife urged, "and tell your
father and mother something. I think they are entitled to the news
now."

"Yes, Nan, I think they are. Listen, folks. Now that you've all been
nice enough