“And your horn scared my horse.”
“I don’t see how that is my fault. Your horse ought to be used to auto-horns by this time.” 23
“You’ve scraped all the paint off my carriage, and I had it painted only last week,” went on the money-lender, warming up. “It’s an outrage how you auto fellows think you own the whole road!”
“I won’t discuss the matter now, Mr. Poole,” answered Dunston Porter, stiffly. “I think it was your fault entirely. But if you think otherwise, come and see me when I get back from this trip, which will be in four days.” And without waiting for more words, Dave’s uncle started up the touring car, and Aaron Poole was soon left far behind.
“If he isn’t a peach!” murmured Roger, slangily. “It’s easy to see where Nat gets his meanness from. He is simply a chip off the old block.”
“He’s a pretty big chip,” returned Phil, dryly.
“I don’t see how he can blame us,” said Dave. “We simply couldn’t pass him on the left. If we had tried, we’d have gone in the ditch sure. And the scraping we did to his buggy amounts to next to nothing.”
“I am not afraid of what he’ll do,” said Dunston Porter. “A couple of dollars will fix up those scratches, and if he is so close-fisted I’ll foot the bill. But I’ll give him a piece of my mind for blocking the road.”
“But his horse was frightened, Uncle Dunston,” said Laura. 24
“A little, yes, but if Poole hadn’t got scared himself he might have drawn closer to the side of the road. I think he was more frightened than the horse.”