“I don’t want any brandy; I wouldn’t mind having a drop of water, though.” There was a pitcher standing on the table beside him; he tilted it and looked into it and saw that there was water in it; then he raised it to his lips and took a deep draught of it. “What did you scare me so for?” he said, half angrily, turning on Will again.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Tom,” said the other; then he hesitated for a moment or two. “Look here, Tom,” said he, “you’d better go home; your mother has something to tell you. Your father was in town not half an hour ago; I saw him at Bradley’s blacksmith shop. I wish to heavens you’d been a little sooner; you might have ridden out home with him. If you’ll wait a bit, I’ll slip over and borrow uncle’s gig and drive you home.”
“I don’t want to wait; I’ll walk,” said Tom. Then, “Look here, Will; what are you so anxious for me to go straight home for?”
“What makes you think that I’m anxious?”
“You ain’t answering my question, Will Gaines.”
“I have no reason for wanting you to go straight home, except that I suppose your folks’ll want to see you.”
“Is that all?” said Tom, looking sharply at the other.
“Yes.”
Tom looked at him a little while longer, and then he turned away. He did not believe Will, but he saw that nothing more was to be gotten out of him.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Will, presently, “you walk on out home, and I’ll go over and get uncle’s gig and drive after you, and pick you up. It won’t do to run in on your people without their knowing of your coming. Your mother ought to know of it before she sees you.”