The little ball of paper was caught midway, whirled in an ellipse, and neatly and accurately⁠—with what might have seemed demonic intent⁠—deposited in the centre of the squire’s stomach! Mr. Urquhart secured this unintended missile as it rolled down between his legs, and laid it with a careless gesture upon the table in front of him.

Wolf made a dash forward, but stopped abruptly; and very deliberately the squire unfolded the cheque and smoothed it out before him.

“That’s just silly, me boy,” he remarked calmly. “No need to insult a person, when you’ve picked him out of the ditch! That’s just rude and uncivil. That’s unkind. There you are!” And with a gesture as grandiose and princely as if he were returning a rapier to a disarmed antagonist, he raised his arm and stretched out the thing for Wolf to take back.

Without a word Wolf submitted⁠—received the slip of paper from that outstretched hand and replaced it in the identical pocket where it had lain since morning.