Roger was to remain over for several days at Crumville, and early the next morning Dave asked his chum if he would accompany him on a hasty trip to Coburntown. He had already acquainted Roger with the trouble he was having with the shoe-dealer and the man who sold men’s furnishings.
“We can take a horse and cutter and be back before lunch,” said Dave.
“I’ll be glad to go,” answered the senator’s son. “I haven’t had a ride in a cutter this winter.”
They were soon on the way, Dave this time driving a black horse that could not only cover the ground well, but was thoroughly reliable. By ten o’clock they found themselves in Coburntown, and made their way to the establishment run by Asa Dickley. The proprietor of the store was busy with a customer at the time, and a clerk came forward to wait on the new arrivals.
“I wish to speak to Mr. Dickley,” said Dave; and he and Roger waited until the man was at leisure. Mr. Dickley looked anything but pleasant as he walked up to our hero.
“I got a very strange letter from you, Mr. Dickley. I can’t understand it at all,” began Dave.
“And I can’t understand why you treat me the way you do,” blurted out the shopkeeper. “You 49 promised to come in here and settle up over a week ago.”
“Mr. Dickley, I think there is a big mistake somewhere,” said Dave, as calmly as he could. “I don’t owe you any money, and I can’t understand why you should write me such a letter as this,” and he brought forth the communication he had received.
“You don’t owe me any money!” ejaculated Asa Dickley. “I just guess you do! You owe me twenty-six dollars.”