Read Ebook: Three Boys; Or The Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai by Fenn George Manville

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Ebook has 2326 lines and 57757 words, and 47 pages

"No, no, no! You'd make the pater laugh horribly. Here, I tell you what! you and I are about the same size--shall I lend you some of my duds?"

"Oh, if you would!" cried Max.

"All right!"

Kenneth dashed off to his own room, and came back in a minute.

"Here you are!" he cried. "Slip on those socks."

"But I've got socks."

"But they won't do. On with these."

"But--"

"On with them. The gong will go directly."

Horribly scared at the idea of keeping The Mackhai waiting again, Max obeyed, hardly knowing what he did, and then he made a protest as Kenneth held out a garment for him to put on next.

"Oh," he exclaimed, "I couldn't put on that!"

"But you must. You haven't a moment to spare; and it's my best one."

Max shrank, and then yielded, for all at once boom! boom! boom! sounded the gong; and, half frantic with haste and his want of moral courage, the poor boy submitted to the domination of his tormentor, with the result that, five minutes after the gong had ceased, and still hesitating as to whether he had not better stay away, Max followed Kenneth down-stairs, that young gentleman having preceded him two minutes.

"The Mackhai is beginning breakfast, sir," said Grant, as Max came down; and he drew back with a tray full of hot viands, his sour, stony face relaxing into a grin as the shrinking figure of the young guest passed him.

"Good morning, Mr Blande!" said The Mackhai sternly; and then his severe face underwent a change. He was about to burst out laughing, but he bit his lip, frowned, and then in a changed tone of voice said, "Thank you for the compliment, Mr Blande."

"It--it was not meant for a compliment, sir," faltered Max.

"Indeed! I thought you had donned our tartan out of compliment to your host."

"It is an accident, sir," stammered Max, with his face scarlet. "I have lost my clothes, and Kenneth has been kind enough to lend me a suit."

"Oh, I see!" said The Mackhai, as the dogs, which for a treat had been admitted, came sniffing round the shivering lad, who looked pitiably thin and miserable in the kilt, with the sporran hanging down far lower than it should.

"It is a very comfortable dress," said The Mackhai, recovering himself, though, to Kenneth's delight and Max's misery, he could not repress a smile. "There, pray, sit down, the breakfast is growing cold."

Max went to his place shrinkingly, for Bruce, the great deerhound, was following close behind him, apparently examining him thoughtfully.

"Lie down, Bruce!" said Kenneth, and the dog dropped into a couching attitude. "You look fizzing, Max," he said, in a low voice, as his father walked to the window and peered out.

Max gave him a piteous look, and gladly seated himself, seeming glad of the shelter of the hanging tablecloth, for, after examining him wonderingly, Sneeshing suddenly set up his tail very stiffly and uttered a sharp bark, while Dirk shook his frill out about his neck and uttered a menacing growl, which to poor Max's ears sounded like, "You miserable impostor, get out of those things!"

Just then Grant entered with the portion of the breakfast kept back till Max came down, The Mackhai seated himself, and the breakfast began.

As at previous meals, the host was very much abstracted: when he was not partaking of his breakfast, he was reading his letters or referring to the newspaper, leaving the task of entertaining the guest to his son.

"How do you feel now?" said Kenneth.

"Not very comfortable," whispered Max. "May I ask Grant to have a good search made for my things?"

"Oh no, don't ask him now. It puts him out. You'll be all right, and forget all about them soon."

"I--I don't think I shall," said Max, as he made a very poor breakfast.

"Oh yes, you will. I say, if I were you, I'd write up to my tailor to send you down two rigs-out like that. You'll find 'em splendid for shooting and fishing."

Max shook his head.

"Never mind. Have some of this kipper, it's--"

"Ow!" ejaculated Max, dropping his coffee-cup on the table, so that it upset, and the brown fluid began to spread, as the lad sprang back from the table.

"What's the matter?" cried The Mackhai.

"Nothing, sir;--I--that is--that dog--"

Kenneth was seized with a violent fit of laughing and choking, which necessitated his getting up from the table and being thumped on the back by Grant; while Dirk, who had been the cause of all the trouble, marched slowly out from under the table, and stood upon the hearthrug uttering a low growl, and looking from one to the other of the boys, as if he felt that they were insulting him.

"Look here, Kenneth, if you cannot behave yourself at table," cried The Mackhai angrily, "you had better have your meals by yourself."

"I--I--oh dear!--oh, oh, oh! I beg your pardon, father, I--oh, I say, Max, don't look like that, or you'll kill me!" cried Kenneth, laughing and choking more than ever.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Max piteously. "I'm afraid it was all my fault;" and he looked at the stained cloth.

"There is no need for any apology, Mr Blande. Here, Grant, lay a doubled napkin over this place, and bring another cup. Pray sit down, sir."

Max turned shrinkingly toward the table, but glanced nervously from one dog to the other, and just at that moment, Bruce, who was behind, smelt his legs.

"Oh!" cried Max, making a rush, as he felt the touch of the dog's cold nose.

"Here, Kenneth, I've said before that I will not have those dogs in the dining-room!" cried The Mackhai angrily. "Turn them out."

Kenneth hastily obeyed, the dogs marching out through the French window, and then sitting down outside and looking patiently in, as dogs gaze who are waiting for bones.

"What was the matter, Max?" asked Kenneth, as soon as they were re-seated, and the breakfast once more in progress.

"That dog took hold of my leg."

"What, Sneeshing?"

"No, no. The one you call Dirk."

"He must have thought it was a sheep's leg."

"Kenneth!"

"Yes, father?"

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