There will always be certain men in every community who take delight in poisoning the minds of the younger generation. We muzzle dogs, or shoot them when they go mad. The foul-mouthed man is far more vicious than the dog, and should be impounded.
Hiram hitched his horse to the rack before the store and entered the crowded place. The fumes of tobacco smoke, vinegar, cheese, and various other commodities gave a distinctive flavor to Caleb Schell's store—and not a pleasant one, to Hiram's mind.
Ordinarily he would have made any purchases he had to make, and gone out at once. But Schell was busy with several customers at the counter and he was forced to wait a chance to speak with the old man.
One of the first persons Hiram saw in the store was young Pete Dickerson, hanging about the edge of the crowd. Pete scowled at him and moved away. One of the men holding down a cracker-keg sighted Hiram and hailed him in a jovial tone:
“Hi, there, Mr. Strong! What's this we been hearin' about you? They say you had a run-in with Sam Dickerson. We been tryin' to git the pertic'lars out o' Pete, here, but he don't seem ter wanter talk about it,” and the man guffawed heartily.
“Hear ye made Sam give back the tools he borrowed of the old man?” said another man, whom Hiram knew to be Mrs. Larriper's son-in-law.
“You are probably misinformed,” said Hiram, quietly. “I know no reason why Mr. Dickerson and I should have trouble—unless other neighbors make trouble for us.”
“Right, boy—right!” called Cale Schell, from behind the counter, where he could hear and comment upon all that went on in the middle of the room, despite the attention he had to give to his customers.
“Well, if you can git along with Sam and Pete, you'll do well,” laughed another of the group.
The Dickersons seemed to be in disfavor in the community, and nobody cared whether Pete repeated what was said to his father, or not.