“No, they’re not,” put in Ned.
“They’re diseased and will die inside of a month,” added Bob.
“Say, consarn ye! Who be you fellers, anyhow, puttin’ in yer oars where ye ain’t wanted, an’ tryin’ t’ spoil a man’s trade?” demanded Mr. Sackett with a snarl.
“Oh, I guess you know who we are well enough,” spoke Jerry calmly, as he stepped into plainer view. “We bought a calf of you at rather a high price the other day, Mr. Sackett, and afterward learned that you were ordered to kill it!”
“Oh, them’s th’ fellers, eh?” remarked Mr. Stearn, while as for the miserly farmer, he started back in alarm at the sight of our heroes.
“What’s that calf got t’ do with my chickens?” he demanded roughly.
“A great deal,” went on Jerry still calmly. “Those fowls are diseased, just as the calf was, and you know that your chickens have been condemned, Mr. Sackett. You’ve been ordered by the health department to get rid of them, and this is the means you take—trying to sell them to some one who will lose them all within a month.
“Don’t buy those chickens, Mr. Stearn,” went on Jerry eagerly. “We met Mr. Rider, the health inspector, a little while ago, and he told us the whole story. It was he who told us about the condemned calf we accidentally killed. Mr. Rider will be here in a few days to see that the flock of Cochins are disposed of, and if you don’t want to throw your money away, don’t buy them!”