Left to their own devices, the hens scuttled back to their own
domain through a break in the palings on our side of the hedge,
while in my hands the rooster squawked and plunged and kicked and
struggled; it was like trying to hold a feathered hyena.
I was very angry. I had lost my bulb bed. I couldn't wring the neck
of the raider, much as I should have liked to do so, but with an arm
made strong by a just and righteous rage I lifted that big brute
high above my head and hurled him over into his own yard. He sailed
through the air like a black and white plane.
"_Damn! Oh, damn!_" said somebody on the other side of the hedge.
There was a horrible grunt, as of one getting all the wind knocked
out of him, a scuffle, and the squawks of the big rooster, to which
the hens dutifully added a deafening chorus.
"The brute--has just about--murdered me!" grunted Doctor Richard
Geddes.
We stood in stricken silence. Swiftly, noiselessly, Uncle Adam faded
from sight, putting a solid section of Hynds House between himself
and what he felt was coming battle. Uncle Adam had no wish to have
to pray me to death, and he wasn't going to run any risks with
Doctor Richard Geddes.
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