t his pictures of what
he was going to do in times to come; and on the other side of the
coffin-table, Hume would urge him on, leerin' and grinnin' like Satan
himself, and making all manner of game of him. Bedad, me gorge rose at
it more than once, and it was all I could do to keep from takin' him
by the scruff of the neck and throwin' him intil the street."

"Almost every man has some spark of good in his nature, however
faint," said Ashton-Kirk. "And Hume may have had one, too, though no
one seems to have discovered it."

Tobin smiled and returned:

"An Irishman always has a good deal of respect for the fighting
strain, no matter if it be in a man, or a beast, or a bird. Old Nick
himself must be a grand, two-handed man, and as such we must give him
credit. And 'twas the same way with this felly Hume. He had real
fighting blood, so he had; and sorra the man ever undertook to impose
on him the second time."

"And as a true Celt, you held this to be a credit mark," laughed
Ashton-Kirk.

"I did. And, indeed, he seemed to consider it so himself, though he
was not one to care a snap what others thought of him. But often he'd
boast of the stock he came from. Fighters they were to the core, he
said, fighters who never knew when they were whipped, and who'd go on
fighting while they had a leg to stand on, an eye to see, and an arm
to strike a blow."

Tobin here paused and stroked his smooth-shaven chin, reflectively.

"He claimed descent from someone who was rated a real man in his day,"
he continued. "'Twas an officer, I think, who fought with--faith,
yes," smiling in recollection, "at the side of sorra the one less than
Washington himself."

Pendleton, listening with dwindling interest, saw Ashton-Kirk's hand
clench, and saw a gleam shoot into his eyes. Then he saw him bend
toward Tobin, his elbows on his knees, his clenched hands beneath his
chin.

"Ah," said the investigator, and his voice was calmer than Pendleton
remembered ever hearing it before, "he claimed a pedigree, did he? And
from a Revolutionary officer. Such things are always interesting. It's
a pity you can't remember the soldier's name."

Tobin pondered.

"I can't," confessed he, at length; "but there is one thing that I
remember hearing Hume tell about him; it seemed laughable at the time,
and I suppose that's why it's stuck to me. It seems that the supposed
ancestor were a great felly for dress, and expected the like of all
the men under him;