"If it's where ye say it is, ten dollars!"
"All right," agreed the boy. "Your wife knows I have the money. I'll pay you when we get to the Corners."
"I know ye got the money," said the woman. "But I don't know how ye got it. And if you've got an ortermobile, too, I bet ye stole that!"
"You hesh up, Sairy," advised Mr. Blodgett. "No need of your sp'ilin' a trade. Gimme my supper. I'll hafter eat b'fore I go with ye, young man."
"Oh, all right," sighed Tom, remembering how the girls must be very much frightened by this time.
The man tramped into the house with the milk and the lantern. Neither he nor his wife asked Tom inside—or mentioned supper to him. The woman put it steaming on the table and Tom—like the dog—might stand and look on.
At last the farmer was finished. "Guess the team's eat by now," he remarked, and came out with the lantern hung on his arm. All this time the dog had had "fits and starts" of wanting to get at Tom and eat him up. Now he slipped past his master and ran at the visitor with a savage growl.
The boy had no idea of being made the supper of the brute, no matter how hungry Fido might be. So he kicked out and barely touched him. Instantly the brute set up a terrible "ki-yi-ing!" and shot off the porch and disappeared into the darkness. Evidently the Blodgetts kept the animal for its bark, for it did not have the pluck of a woodchuck!
"Come on," advised Sam, as the woman began to rail again. "She's wound up an' ain't likely to run down again for a week. You sure you wanter pay ten dollars for this job?"
"I'm sure I will pay that for it, whether I want to or not," declared Tom, with confidence.