no, m'lord; no
indeed, m'lord. He says 'Hell with the law!' Like a man would, like
me an' you . . . an' he kills his own rats himself."

"That's the Packard of him! For, by God, Guy Little, he is a Packard
even if he has got a wrong start! Rich man's son--silver-spoon
stuff--why, it would spoil a better man than you ever saw! Didn't I
spoil my son Phil that-a-way? Didn't Phil start out spoilin' his son
Stephen that same way? But he's a Packard--an'--an'----"

"An' what, m'lord?"

The old man's fist fell heavily on the arm of his chair.

"An' I'm still hopin' he's goin' to be a damn' good Packard at that!
But you go on, Guy Little. What else?"

"Sorta reckless, he is," resumed Guy Little. "But that's purty near
the same thing as havin' the gamblin' spirit, ain't it? Nex' an'
final, m'lord, he's got what you might call an eye for a good-lookin'
girl."

"The devil you say, Guy Little!" The old man, beginning to settle in
his chair, sat bolt upright. "Is some female woman tryin' to get her
hooks in my gran'son already? Name her to me, sir!"

"Name of Temple," said Little. "Terry Temple as they call her, an' a
sure good-lookin' party, if you ask me! Classy from eyes to ankles an'
when it comes to----"

"Hold on, Guy Little!" exploded old man Packard, leaping to his feet,
towering high above the little man, who looked up at him with an
earnest and placid expression. "That wench, that she-devil, that
Jezebel! Settin' her traps for my boy Stephen, is she? Why, man
alive, she ain't fit to scrape the corral-mud off'n his boots. She's a
low-down, deceitful jade, that's what she is, sired by a
sheep-stealin', throat-cuttin', ornery, no-'count, worthless cuss! The
whole pack of them Temples, he an' she of 'em, big an' little of 'em,
ought to be strung up on the firs' tree! The low-down bunch of little
prairie dawgs, tryin' to trap a Packard with puttin' a putty-faced fool
girl in their snare. I say, Guy Little, I'll make the whole crowd of
'em hunt their holes!"

And he hurled his pipe from him so that on the hearthstone it broke
into many pieces.

Now that was a long speech for old man Packard and Guy Little listened
interestedly. At the end, when the old man went growling back to his
chair, the mechanician took up his tale.

"She's purty, though," he maintained. "Like a picture!"

"Doll-faced," snorted the old man, who had not the least idea what
Terry Temple looked like, not having laid his