"What do you mean by driving in front of the house?" he demanded.
"Don't you know any better?"
"I've got to git that hay down there in the corner," the teamster surlily replied. "If I don't go in this way, how am I to git out, I'd like to know? I can't turn down there."
"Carry the hay out, then, you lazy rascal."
"It'll take me all the afternoon to do it, an' then ye'll growl at me if I don't git done before night."
"None of your impudence to me," Stubbles roared. "I'll make an example of you if you dare to speak that way again."
He was livid with anger, and, forgetting where he was, he took a step forward as if he would then and there chastise the man with his own hands. As he did so, he stepped off the platform, and with a wild shriek and a frantic effort to save himself, he went headfirst down the steps to the ground below.
Douglas had been standing not far off listening with considerable interest to the angry conversation between master and man. But when he saw Stubbles take the wild plunge, he rushed forward and picked up the injured man. The latter was groaning and cursing, contending that he was killed, and that the teamster was to blame for the accident.
Lifting him in his arms, Douglas carried him up the steps just as Mrs.
Stubbles came from the house.
"Oh! what is the matter?" she cried. "What has happened to Simie?"
"He's had a bad fall," Douglas replied. "Hold the door open while I carry him into the house. Show me where to lay him."