"Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. I would even make over my engagement to you, if Mr. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. "Come down, sirrah, and I'll teach you how to deface my walls in future. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. " "Who made such a law?" "This world is governed by minorities—in politics, in religion, in society.
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