The coolness of the suggestion amazed the farmer. He stared at the young man and staggered up against a feed box.
“Pay—him—eight—dollars?” he said, with painful slowness.
“Either that, or I will take him to the nearest justice without further delay. You will find going to law much more expensive.”
Joel Carrow gave a groan. Then he brought forth a well-worn pocket-book and with trembling fingers counted out eight greasy bills.
“Now you are acting sensibly,” said Landes, as Bob took the money. “Will you go with me?” he asked, turning to the youth.
“Where to?”
“I am bound to Stampton, on a camera tour. I will pay your way if you care to go.”
“I’ll jump at the chance,” returned Bob, quickly. “I would like——”
“Joel! Joel Carrow! Where are you?” came in the shrill voice of the farmer’s wife. “Here you are leavin’ the pig-sty wide open an’ all the pigs running into the garden! Mercy sakes! one of ’em’s in the dairy! Come quick, you big fool, an’ tend to ’em, or I’ll be out there with a broom!”
Mrs. Carrow’s angry voice was coming nearer, and without stopping to parley longer with the others, Joel Carrow darted from the barn, and after the scampering pigs who were scattering in all directions.