"Lend it to 'im!—Lend it to 'im, eh? Mercy knows, I wouldn't lend 'im a halter to hang himself, since he blunted my iron wedges, and broomed up my beetle so! And I guess, you wouldn't talk about lendin', if the chain had been hooked from you!"
"But I don't like this hurry and passion you manifest. Get rid of this before you think of bringing a neighbor to justice. We become criminal ourselves just so far as we harbor passion and vengeance while calling criminals to account."
"Wal, will ye give me a warrant? tell me that," said Bogle in a huff.
"Tell me, Square, if you'll give me a warrant. Cause I ken go to
Sempronus, I guess, and git one of Square Moss, if ye don't."
"I tell you this, neighbor Bogle," replied Squire Fabens. "This is a very serious affair you have brought before me. I want time to consider it, and you must go home and think it all over calmly, and sleep on it; and then if you think something must be done in law, come to me to-morrow with your witnesses, and we'll see what must be done."
"Jest as I expected," cried Bogle, turning on his heel in a swelling rage. "Jest as I expected. You're as fit for a Square as my dog Pomp—jest about! I'll go to Square Moss. Ye needn't trouble yourself any more. He'll give me a warrant, I guess. And if I don't vote agin you next year, then my name aint Simon Bogle!"
Away he trudged in a gnashing rage, muttering back his threats and reproaches, and Fabens turned into the house and enjoyed his early tea. By the time Bogle was home, however, he had altered his mind, and went and consulted his witnesses, and ascertained more definitely what was surmised, and what could be proved. Passing Troffater's on his way, that incarnate mischief came out, and hailed him, saying, "Here, ho! Bogle—hello there! How d'ye dew? come back, come back, and see a feller! Don't be scornful!"
"I aint scornful. I'm in a hurry," grumbled Bogle.
"Wal, come back a minute—a man broke his neck in a hurry. What you goin' to dew with Sculpin, eh? He hooked your log-chain, I heern," said Troffater.
"I'm goin' to see Square Fabens agin to-morrow, and try and fetch the feller to justice. Sculpin may be sorry for this. I know what I ken prove," said Bogle.
"I don't b'lieve the Square will try 'im. I never could git a hearin' of 'im. He's stiff as steelyards, and short as pie-crust since he got in office. But mebby he'll knuckle a little to you. If he will, put Sculpin through a course of sprouts, and larn 'im better'n to hook log-chains. But I'm sorry I know anything about it; I don't want to go to court," said Troffater, with a mysterious elongation of his little monkey face, and significant rollings and crossings of his black and blue eyes.