THE SCRATCH PACK

CHAPTER I

"If there even appeared to be the faintest reason forhis not going into something," said Gheena severely.Then she put her hand on the collar of the nondescript curnamed Crabbit, an animal which was not precisely anIrish terrier and not quite a retriever, had some distantconnections in the house of spaniels, and other relationstoo varied to trace, the result of this liberally scatteredancestry being endowed with a silky-red coat, and liquid,truthful eyes which expressed his powers of affection, butnot the original sin behind his broad forehead.

"You will get a cold in your nose and snuffle at dinnerif you go into the water again, Crabbit. No, sir! Ifthere could be the faintest reason for it," went on GheenaFreyne. "If he was like Dick Kennedy, who has no oneto help him, or half blind like Professor Brown, or couldn'twalk——" She stopped, flushing, and took up herknitting.

"Like me—yes, Gheena." The words came lightly,but a little half stifled twisted sigh slipped from DarbyDillon's lips. Darby had been a light-hearted, long-limbedsoldier in days of peace. If you saw him sittingdown or in the saddle, and came up at his right side, hewas apparently long limbed and good-looking still: a leanwell-built man of about thirty-five, but at the left sideDarby's shoulder stooped; he shuffled with one limb stiffand useless, generally with a crutch under his shoulder.

A crashing fall playing polo on hard Egyptian groundhad left him maimed and crippled.

"I—did.... I wasn't. He's gone again," said Gheenaphilosophically.

A streak of red had tumbled over the brow of the lowcliff, and a resounding splash marked the fact that Crabbitwas once more in hot pursuit of seagulls, the hope to seizeone unawares being embedded deeply in him.

"He is off to that rock where they all sit on. Mothergets quite worried when he snuffles under her chair andthinks it is bits or perhaps he is going mad. Why dosome people"—Gheena whistled impotently—"never geta grip of life, Darby? Mummie can't ever think aboutCrabbit without asking Dearest if it isn't right—Aren'tthe dog's nose noises suspicious? Darby—I—I nevermeant to refer to anyone."

Darby said cheerily that he knew it, and that one gotused to a lost leg, even if it meant other losses—here hiseyes clouded—and that a fellow who could sit on a saddleneed never grumble.

They sat silent then, looking across the sea; the greatendless water carpet was grey under a grey sky, alwaysmoving with froth of spray on its lips when it touched theshore, here and there a line of white breaking over somehidden rock, its steely heaving distance merging to themoving sky. Far off the smudge of smoke marked thetrack of a liner

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