Duncan bit his lip. "How do you know but what the widow said I could have the pears?" he ventured.
"If she did, it's all right," I returned, astonished, not so much over the fact that Widow Canby had granted the permission, as that such a high-toned young gentleman as Duncan Woodward should desire that privilege.
"You've no business to jump at conclusions," he added sharply.
"If I judged you wrongly, I beg your pardon, Duncan. I'll speak to the widow about it."
I began to move off toward the house. Duncan hurried after me and caught me by the arm.
"You fool you, what do you mean?" he demanded.
"I'm going to find out if you are telling the truth."
"Isn't my word enough?"
"It will do no harm to ask," I replied evasively, not caring to pick a quarrel, and yet morally sure that he was prevaricating.
"So you think I'm telling you a falsehood? I've a good mind to give you a sound drubbing," he cried angrily.