“Shut up!”
“I won’t. I’ve stood your abuse long enough, and now I intend to speak my mind. I’ve worked for you nearly a year now, and in that time you have treated me worse than a dog.”
“I’ve treated you better’n yer deserve,” muttered Joel Carrow, not knowing what else to say.
“You promised to give me ten dollars a month and my board, and you have never yet paid me a full month’s wages, always deducting something for this or that I couldn’t help; and the food you gave me wasn’t fit for a pig.”
With a snarl Joel Carrow sprang toward Bob. The youth had told the plain truth, and it was evident the farmer knew it only too well.
Bob retreated, and his miserly employer followed him into the barn-yard. He had almost succeeded in catching the youth, when he tripped over a pitchfork and fell headlong into a puddle of water. His face was covered with mud, so was his blue jean shirt, and he was a sight to behold.
Bob gazed for a second in silence, and then burst into a peal of laughter.
“Hold up, till I take a snap shot of you!” sang out a voice from the fence behind the barn.
Bob looked in the direction, and beheld a young man seated on the top rail of the fence. The newcomer held a camera on his lap, and the lens was pointed toward Joel Carrow.
Before the farmer could rise from the puddle, there was a click, and the amateur photographer had taken his picture.