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well-opened gray eye, the curve of the sensitive nostrils, the sweet

set of the fire of that ue memory But nohile John Barty frowned

upon his son, Barnabas frowned back at his father, and the added

grimness of his chin offset the sweetness of the mouth above

"Barnabas," said his father at last, "did you say a--gentleman,

Barnabas?"

"Yes"

"What--you?" Here John Barty's frown vanished suddenly and,

expanding his great chest, he threw back his head and roared with

laughter Barnabas clenched his fists, and his linted through their curving lashes,

while his father laughed and laughed till the place rang again,

which of itself stung Barnabas sharper than any blow could have done

But now having had his laugh out, John Barty frowned again blacker

than ever, and resting his two hands upon the table, leaned towards

Barnabas with his great, square chin jutted forward, and his

deep-set eyes narrowed to shining slits--the "fighting face" that had

daunted entleman--hey?"

"Yes"

"You aren't crazed in your 'ead, are ye, Barnabas?"

"Not that I know of, father"

"This here fortun' then--it's been an' turned your brain, that's

what it is"