This person soon appeared in the form of a short, stout man with a straggly yellow moustache and a very red face. He had enormously long arms, so that his hat, which he carried in one hand, hung nearly on a level with his ankles. He was blinking at the lights, and was plainly more than half asleep. Also it was evident that the wrath had gone out of him. He looked inquiringly at Fernald, as though the librarian, not he, were seeking the interview. He continued to blink, until at last Fernald had to begin the conversation.
"You wanted to see me? Something about your son?"
"Oh, yes. Say, he come home, an' he says you put him outer here."
"Yes, I did," replied Fernald; "that was a week ago to-night. And if I had been here two weeks ago, and had had a cow-hide, I would have given him a good licking. He needs one."
The man looked greatly astonished, but said nothing, so the librarian continued:
"I put him out last week for banging three little boys over the heads with a magazine. I had been watching him for ten minutes. He doesn't come in here to play in the gymnasium—which is what he needs—nor to read. He comes into the library every week just to raise the devil. This was the first time he had ever touched a book—when he picked up one to lambaste these boys with it. And two weeks ago he stuck his foot out when one of the women who had charge of the library was passing the table, and she tripped and fell flat, with an armful of books. If he wants to come back and behave, he may, but he can't come otherwise."
"He says you choked him," remarked the man.
"He lies," said Fernald. "I took him by the collar and put him out—that's all. He was quite able, as soon as I let him go, to run into the street and pick up half a dozen lumps of ice, and swear at me, and dare me to come out from in front of the glass door, so he could have the pleasure of breaking my face without any risk of breaking the glass."
"Oh, well," the man returned, "it's all right then. As soon as I see you, I knew it was all right."