ds House between himself
and what he felt was coming battle. Uncle Adam had no wish to have
to pray me to death, and he wasn't going to run any risks with
Doctor Richard Geddes. Where that irascible gentleman was concerned,
Uncle Adam, like Br'er Rabbit, would "trus' no mistakes."

A second later, red-faced, half-breathless, but with the light of
battle in his eyes, Doctor Geddes appeared, mounted on a ladder on
his side of the hedge.

"Who shot off that rooster?"

"_Monsieur le docteur_, the hens of you began this affray,"
explained Schmetz, politely. "They are fowls abandoned in their
morals, horrible in their habits, and shameless in their behavior.
And the husband of these wretches, Monsieur, is a bandit, a brigand,
an assassin, fit only to be guillotined. Observe, Monsieur, it
happened thus--"

"Schmetz," snapped the doctor, "shut up!--Now then, I want to know
who fired off that rooster."

"I did!" I said valiantly. "Look at my bulbs! Just look at my
bulbs!"

"Look at my stomach!" roared the doctor. "Just look at my stomach!"

"_Mon Dieu! O mon Dieu_!" cried Schmetz, dancing up and down.
"Monsieur, again I implore that you will remain calm and listen to
the voice of reason! Your hens, creatures malicious and accursed--"

"Why should I look at your horrid stomach?" said I, outraged. "I
think you had better get down off that ladder and go away!"

"Why should you? Because, you jade, you've all but driven a
twenty-pound rooster clean through it--beak, spurs and tail
feathers--that's why!" bawled the doctor. "Gad! I shall be black and
blue for a fortnight! I'm colicky now: I need a mustard-plaster!"

"_Two_ mustard-plasters," I insisted severely: "one on your tongue
and the other on your temper!"

"Temper?" flared the doctor, and flung up his arms. "_Temper?_
Here's a minx that's all but murdered me, and yet has the stark
effrontery to blather about temper! You've a bad one yourself, let
me tell you! You've the worst, outside of your late aunt--"

"Grand-aunt-in-law; your own cousin-by-blood, whom you greatly
resemble in that same matter of family temper, I am given to
understand."

"Gatchell told you that!" cried the doctor, wrathfully.
"Fish-blooded old mummy! _His_ place is in a Canopic jar! Gatchell
hasn't had a thought since 1845."

"Well, if he satisfied himself so long ago as 1845 that you have a
frightful temper and that your hens are unutterable nuisances, I see
no reason why he should chang