Cocking the gun. ’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. His face was downcast. One was in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor business. He was not sure that the boy had put himself beyond the pale; merely, the boy's actions pointed that way. A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces.
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