"It couldn't have been more than three gallons," interrupted Bob. "Molasses runs awful slow, and the spigot wasn't open more than three minutes."
"It runs fast in hot weather," observed the storekeeper.
"What is it all about?" asked Mr. Henderson.
Then Mr. Hodge explained, dwelling on the pain he had suffered as a result of the fall from the string that tripped him and on the loss of the molasses.
"I want ten dollars damage," he concluded. "A dollar fer the molasses an' the rest fer personal injuries."
"I am afraid I cannot afford to pay so much," said Mr. Henderson, who, while he made good wages, was trying to save up enough to pay for his home.
"Then I'll sue ye."
"I would not like you to do that, but I cannot afford to pay ten dollars—at least not now. I have some interest to meet this week."
"Well, maybe I might take a little less," said Mr. Hodge, as he saw a prospect of Bob's father coming to a settlement. "I'll make it eight dollars, an' ye can pay me in installments."
"I suppose that will be fair," admitted Mr. Henderson. He spoke very quietly, but he was much exercised over what had happened.