“Who owns this thing?” suddenly asked the stand owner, as he came from a silent contemplation of the wreck and ruin and approached the crowd.
“He does!” exclaimed half a dozen persons, pointing at Noddy.
“You did that on purpose! You know you did! I saw you steering straight for my stand,” cried the man. “I want damages now—heavy damages! Everything is spoiled, and it cost me fifteen dollars to build the stand, besides all the things I had. I must have damages.”
“Oh, dry up!” retorted Noddy, who had had about all he could stand in the way of misfortune.
“‘Dry up,’ eh? I’ll show you!” cried the man. “Are you going to pay me for my things?”
“It was an accident. I couldn’t help it.”
“What difference does that make to me? That won’t bring back my lemonade. That won’t wrap up the popcorn in packages again. That won’t mend the broken bottles of ginger ale. I want damages, and I’m going to have ’em.”
The man was so insistent, and stood close to Noddy in such a threatening manner, that the bully was alarmed. He shrank back.
“It was an accident,” he repeated. “I couldn’t help it. Something went wrong with the engine. I’m—I’m sorry.”
“A heap of good that does me!” cried the angry stand owner. “I want my things, or I want pay for ’em. I must have fifty dollars, or I’ll have you arrested for malicious mischief. I saw you steer your crazy machine right my way. You could easily have flown above me, instead of landing in my stand.”