“That’s not so!” cried Mr. Sackett. “You’re tryin’ t’ make trouble fer me!”
“It is true,” declared Jerry quietly. “My two friends here heard the story, and so did Professor Snodgrass. I’ll call the professor,” which he did, from down the road where the scientist was looking for strange insects.
“It is perfectly true,” declared Mr. Snodgrass, “and I’m glad we are in time to prevent you from cheating some one else, Mr. Sackett. If you sell those diseased chickens it will be a swindle.”
“Wa’al, they ain’t all sick,” asserted the farmer lamely, “an’ I’m willin’ t’ make a reduction, ef you’ll take ’em, Jason. I tell ye they’re fine fowl!”
This was practically an admission that the story of our heroes was true, and Mr. Stearn felt it to be so. He put his money back into his pocket.
“I guess we can’t do no business, Eb,” he remarked dryly. “I’m much obliged to you young fellers fer warnin’ me in time. I’d a-been badly stuck, with a lot of diseased hens on my hands. What do you mean by tryin’ such a trick, Eb Sackett?”
“Wa’al, I didn’t know th’ hens was as bad as that,” was the evasive answer. “I ain’t had no official notice t’ that effect.”
“You knew it well enough, though,” declared Jerry decisively.
“Wa’al, consarn ye, what right have ye got t’ be mindin’ my business an’ that of Jason Stearn fer, I’d like to know?” demanded the angry miser, seeing his plans foiled.
“We’ve got every honest right,” answered Ned.