“Billy is a good son,” faltered the voice of Mrs. McQuade. “I’m sure there’s some mistake, Colonel Carson. He’s going to start to work Monday at the store, and we hope to pay you that loan before long.”
“You’ll pay up inside of five days,” stormed the angry man. “I’m sick of this fool way of conductin’ business, mind my words! You’ve got till Monday mornin’, then out you go, if you don’t settle.”
Merriwell stepped to the door, his eyes snapping. Colonel Carson stood inside, and Mrs. McQuade was helplessly facing him.
“I think you’ve made a mistake, sir,” said Chip quietly. Carson swung around. “I was present at the encounter in the street, and I assure you that your son was in no danger. Billy hit him twice, and he lost his nerve and started for home.”
Colonel Carson’s face purpled with fury.
“So you admit it, hey?” he roared. “You can be mighty thankful, young man, if I don’t have both o’ you arrested for this business! Nice goings on, this is!”
“I guess you won’t do any arresting in a hurry,” said Chip calmly. “It wouldn’t make a very nice story to get out about your son. The ‘poor fellow,’ as you call him, was brutally beating little Chub Newton, and Billy stepped in to prevent it, that’s all. If there’s any arresting to be done, it might be the other way around, for your son assaulted Billy first.”
Mrs. McQuade gave Merriwell a grateful glance. Colonel Carson sputtered.
“That’s a lie!” he broke out.
Chip’s eyes flashed.