"Keep your shirt on!" retorted Harding, "you won't lick nobody."
He looked curiously at the maddened farmer.
"Your name is Bishop, isn't it?" he asked, and I wondered how he happened to know.
"Yes, my name's Bishop," was the sullen and defiant answer.
"Jim Bishop?"
"Yes; Jim Bishop."
Harding grinned good-naturedly.
"Don't you know who I am?" he asked.
"No, I don't, and I don't give a damn!" replied Bishop, looking at him more closely, I thought.
"Did you know a young fellow named Harding when you were a boy?" asked
Harding.