“Now, Dannie, be a good boy an’ let yer poor ole pop take keer on it fur ye.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Kase I’m the oldest an’ know the most, ye know, an’ it’s the properest thing to do.”
But Dan only shook his head decidedly, and retreated as his father approached the fence. Godfrey continued to argue the matter, but he could make no impression upon Dan, whose only reply was, “Give me my money;” and his father was finally forced to the conclusion that he must either do it, or have all his hopes of possessing that bar’l of gold blasted. He was well enough acquainted with Dan to know that he never made idle threats, and he saw that he must compromise in some way, and that too, if possible, without any loss to his dignity.
“Now, Dannie,” said he, “I hope ye see that yer pop is a heap smarter nor ye be, don’t yer?”
“Give me them six dollars an’ six bits,” replied Dan.
“No, ye can’t have ’em—bar’l or no bar’l, that’s flat—till ye tell me whar ye got ’em. I’m yer pop, an’ it’s my bounden duty to know how ye come by ’em.”
Dan hesitated. If he complied with his father’s demand, he might whistle for the other five dollars which Don Gordon still owed David—or, rather, which he would owe him as soon as the pointer was field-broken. If he refused to comply, he would lose six dollars and seventy-five cents, and that was a small fortune to him. No matter what he decided to do, he had a fine prospect of losing money, unless—
“Yes, pop,” he replied suddenly, trying hard to conceal the excitement occasioned by a lucky thought that just then occurred to him, “I know yer a heap smarter nor I be, an’ I’ll be a good son to ye, an’ never try to fool ye no more.”
“That’s a good boy, Dannie,” said his father, thrusting his hand through the fence in the hope that Dan would lay his own within it. “Put it thar, my lad.”