"Oh, yes he is! can't fool me," said the circus man, assuredly. "Young scamp! He run away from his lawful guardeens and protectors. I'll show him!" and he snapped the whiplash savagely again.
"He sha'n't show him in that way if I can help it," thought Agnes. But all she said aloud was: "There is no boy living here."
"Heh? how's that, Miss?" said Sorber, suspiciously.
Agnes repeated her statement.
"But you know where he does hang out?" said Sorber, slily, "I'll be bound!"
"I don't know that I do," Agnes retorted, desperately. "And if I did know, I wouldn't tell you!"
The man struck his riding boot sharply again. "What's that? what's that?" he growled.
Agnes' pluck was rising. "I'm not afraid of you—so there!" she said, bobbing her head at him.
"Why, bless you, Miss!" ejaculated Sorber. "I should hope not. I wouldn't hurt you for a farm Down East with a pig on it—no, Ma'am! We keep whips for the backs of runaways—not for pretty little ladies like you."
"You wouldn't dare beat Neale O'Neil!" gasped Agnes.