“You may not believe it,” Tom went on. “We did not see you coming until we had started the ball down hill, and then it was too late to stop it. We never thought anyone would cross the lake on the ice at this point, as no one ever does so.”
“I had a right to, didn’t I?” demanded the irate professor.
“A right, certainly,” agreed Tom. “But it is unusual. Teams go down on the lake about a mile farther on, and you would have been perfectly safe there.”
“Humph! I guess I can cross this lake where I please! And the next time you roll a snowball on me, I’ll——”
“I told you,” said Tom, and his voice was cuttingly cool, “that we did not roll the ball on you. It was unintentional, but if you persist in thinking we did it purposely, we can’t help that. Now, is there anything more we can do for you?” and he looked about the snow to make sure all the contents of the cutter had been picked up and returned to it.
The professor did not answer, but busied himself getting into the vehicle, and taking the reins from Morse Denton.
“You can send them spare shafts back any time,” said the farmer who had kindly loaned them.
“We’ll pay for ’em if he doesn’t,” said Jack in a low voice, anxious to preserve peace. “It’s getting off cheap as it is,” he added.
“That’s right,” agreed Bert. “I thought he’d raise no end of a row.”
“So he would have—only for Tom. Tom closed him up in great shape, didn’t he?”