“What do you mean?” returned the farmer, uneasily.
“I came down to tell you that the last consignment of eggs you sent our firm weren’t strictly fresh, and unless you do better in the future, Mr. Dale says he will get his eggs elsewhere.”
“Them eggs were strictly fresh when they left here,” grumbled Joel Carrow.
“That’s not so,” put in Bob. “The eggs were taken from those we had stored all winter, and——”
“Shut up!” interrupted the farmer, red with rage.
“I won’t. I said it wasn’t a fair way to do when you shipped them.”
“If yer don’t keep quiet, I’ll wring yer neck!”
Joel Carrow made another dive for the youth. Bob escaped to the barn, but before he could go farther the farmer caught him by the collar, pulled him backward, and threw him down.
“I’ll fix yer!” he foamed, as he caught up a heavy stick, and hauled back ready to strike Bob on the head.
“Don’t you dare strike me, Joel Carrow!”