“Turn out your pockets!”
“There is nothing in them, Uncle, save some trinkets of my own and my mother’s picture.”
“Turn them out!” thundered the old man.
“Uncle, I have always obeyed you. Obedience was one of the things that my mother taught me, but I’m sure that were she here she would tell me I was right in refusing to humiliate myself as you would have me do. There is nothing in my pockets that does not belong to me. I am not a thief.”
“Then I’ll turn them out myself!” snarled Abner Adams, starting forward.
Phil stepped back a pace, satchel in hand.
“Uncle, I am a man now,” said the boy, straightening to his full height. “Please don’t force me to do something that I should be sorry for all the rest of my life. Will you shake hands with me?”
“No!” thundered Abner Adams. “Get out of my sight before I lay the stick over your head!”
Phil stretched out an appealing hand, then hastily withdrew it.
“Good-bye, Uncle Abner,” he breathed.