“Have you, though? Well, there’s them right here in this town as says you hain’t,” interrupted Uncle Ruben, with a triumphant air.
“Oh, I know that there are those who make a business of saying all sorts of unkind things about me,” answered George, in a voice that was choked with indignation, “but all they can say will not alter the facts of the case. I say now, and I don’t care who disputes it—”
He suddenly paused, for there was an expression in his uncle’s eyes that he could not understand. He looked steadily at him for a moment, and then seated himself on the other end of the scow.
“There, now!” said Uncle Ruben, in a tone of satisfaction. “I kinder thought that mebbe you’d be willin’ to listen to reason after while. It’s the gospel truth, an’ folks do say it.”
“What do they say?”
“They say they don’t know where you got the money you used to spend at the store for the oranges an’ trash you used to buy for your mother.”
“Well, if you hear anybody asking any questions about it, you can just tell them, for me, that it’s none of their business!” replied George, angrily.
“But folks’ll make it their business. You can’t expect that they’ll stand by an’ let their stores be broke into an’ robbed, an’ their butter an’ chickens stole, without making a fuss about it. Don’t stand to reason.”
“Uncle Ruben, explain yourself,” said George, jumping to his feet. “You don’t mean to tell me—”
“Yes, I do,” broke in the man, who knew what his nephew was about to say. “Everybody knows that you have been spendin’ a heap of money sence your father was locked up, an’ that you didn’t make it by sellin’ fish an’ berries.”