"Never mind about them. We'll settle their hash later on. I am dealing with you now. Did you?"
"Yes," Don admitted reluctantly.
"Well then, you are liable to one-third damages, supposing the others are equally guilty."
"Oh," Eleanor exclaimed, "Mr. Snyder, will it be a great deal?"
"A matter of fifty dollars without the colt; if he's not seriously hurt, but I'm afraid that, at the best, he is so scratched that he wouldn't bring the price I might have got for him. Now then, boy, I'm inclined to trounce you well. You need a whipping the worst kind."
Donald cried woefully, and Eleanor looked ready to cry, herself. "Oh, please, Mr. Snyder," she began.
He looked at her and smiled. "Then, Don, down on your knees and beg this young lady's pardon for treating her like a cub. Here before us all, down with you."
Donald did not hesitate, but began to mumble something. "Oh, no, no, please," Eleanor interrupted him, feeling the shame of it tingling to her very ears. "Never mind, now, Mr. Snyder. I don't care. It is all over and past and, please, never mind."
"All right. Get up, boy, you've Dimple to thank for being let off from a thrashing, but I'll march you to your mother and you will tell a straight story before her or I'll know the reason why." And Donald, cowed and miserable, was taken directly back to town, and was marched into his mother's presence.
Mr. Snyder told his tale curtly. "I've plenty of witnesses," he said, "and I know what I'm talking about. I've got to have this made right or I'll go to law about it."