It was Helen who told the story of the mad dog, and of Frank’s having killed it, and it was Minnie Cuthbert who continued the story by telling about Fordham Jeek, of Bellport, and his threats.
“What about it, Frank?” asked Mr. Allen. “Shall we pay him for the dog? It’s too bad to have a fine dog killed.”
“Dad,” replied Frank, “paying that fellow Jeek two hundred dollars or any other sum for the dog won’t bring the dog back to life, will it? If a dog is a menace to human life, then we must get rid of the dog. That dog was a menace at the time it was shot. My decision is that there is nothing to be paid.”
“Is that the man who is a race-track follower?” asked Mr. Allen. And on getting an affirmative reply he went on: “He’s a slippery eel, if what I have heard is true. And, besides being slippery, I suppose he is a little to be feared, too.”
“I’ve no fear of him, dad” said Frank. “I have found that when a man does a whole lot of threatening he isn’t dangerous in the open.”
“That’s just it, my boy,” quietly replied the elder Allen. “If he were dangerous in the open he would have made you promise to pay for the dog right then—or fought.”
“There’s Mr. Van Kirk!” came a sudden cry from Helen, as she saw the rich old man, thin and straight as an arrow, more like a young soldier in stature than anything else, though he invariably carried a crooked hickory stick in his right hand. “Let’s call him in. I love to hear him talk!”
“Sure,” said Mr. Allen, craning his neck to look out the window. “Tell Jacob to come in here.”
With that Frank’s sister ran to the door and hailed the lonely old man of Columbia, a man who had seen the latter part of the Indian wars in the West country, who had been a huntsman all his life, and who knew the ways of the wild.
All the young folks gave him a hearty welcome when he came in and shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Allen, and then with all the others.