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Your affectionate Uncle Seth. Shirley's lip curled. With a rarer, keener intuition than she had hitherto manifested, she sensed the hypocrisy between the lines; she was not deceived. "He has gone to San Francisco for more ammunition," she soliloquized. "Very well, Unkie-dunk! While you're away, I shall manufacture a few bombs myself."
It was a bully club to have up your sleeve at the final show-down, for with it you can make Unkie-dunk behave himself and force that compromise you spoke of. Seriously, however, I don't want you to use it, Shirley. We must avoid a scandal by all means; and praise be, I don't need your club to beat your uncle's brains out. I'm taking HIS club away from him to use for that purpose."
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