Horace Gooch had come over from Hopkinsville to see his wife’s brother on a matter of business. Ten years had not improved Mr. Gooch. If you had asked Mr. Sikes, however, whether they had improved him he would have blasphemously answered in the affirmative. He would have stated—if he had thought of it—that anything that shortened the life of Mr. Gooch could not be otherwise than a most gratifying improvement.
Now this is what happened—and any fair-minded person will sympathize with Mr. Sikes in his dilemma. As Gooch was leaving the Baxter Hardware Store, after a furious wrangle with his brother-in-law—Mr. Sikes had heard most of it through an open window—he had the option of either stepping over or around a half-grown puppy lying immediately in front of the door. He did neither. Notwithstanding the friendly thumping of the puppy’s tail on the board sidewalk and the hospitable smile in his big brown eyes, Mr. Gooch proceeded to remove the obstruction with the toe of his boot. He did not do it gently. A sharp yelp of pain was succeeded by a series of ear-splitting howls as the gangling pup went tearing down the street on three legs.
Mr. Sikes turned the corner of the building just in time to witness this incident. He was also a witness to what followed almost immediately. Oliver October and Sammy Parr were playing “keeps” against the brick wall a dozen paces or so away. Now, it so happened that the former, and not Mr. Baxter, senior, was the sole owner of that sacred pup. Before you could say Jack Robinson, Oliver October was blazing away at the retreating figure of his uncle with marbles he had just won from Sammy. He did not take the time to look for stones in the gutter. His face was white with fury. Mr. Gooch uttered a sharp ejaculation and suddenly clutched his left elbow with his right hand. An instant later the most universally coveted “agate” in Rumley grazed his ear and went hurtling down Clay Street. Mr. Sikes, forgetting himself for the moment, cried out:
“Good shot! Give it to him!”
Another hastily fired “plaster” got Mr. Gooch on the leg, and then young Oliver took to his heels—not because he was afraid of his uncle but because he had caught sight of the far more terrifying figure of Mr. Sikes.
“Whose boy is that?” demanded the outraged Mr. Gooch, addressing Mr. Sikes.
“None of your damned business,” snarled Mr. Sikes, lowering his chin in a menacing way.
“I will make it my business,” roared the other. “I’ll have the little scoundrel locked up for—”
“You just go ahead and try it,” broke in Mr. Sikes, advancing slowly. “Just you go ahead and try it. That’s all I got to say. Go ahead and try it.”
By this time Mr. Gooch had recognized the angry citizen.