“That’s curi’s!” remarked Mr. Pipkin.
“What is it?” said Phin, making his appearance, also in dry garments. He looked at the coin, while Jack repeated the story he had just told Mr. Pipkin; then said, with a sarcastic smile, “Feel mighty smart, don’t ye, with yer old half-dollar! I don’t believe it’s a good one.” And Master Chatford sounded it on a grindstone under the shed. “Couldn’t ye find any more where ye found this?”
“What should I want of any more, if this isn’t a good one?” replied Jack. “Here! give it back to me!”
“’Tain’t yours,” said Phin, with a laugh, pocketing the piece, and making off with it.
“It’s mine, if I don’t find the owner. ’Tisn’t yours, any way! Phin Chatford!”—Phin started to run, giggling as if it was all a good joke, while Jack started in pursuit, very much in earnest. “Give me my money, or I’ll choke it out of ye!” he cried, jumping upon the fugitive’s back, midway between barn and house.
“Here, here! Boys! boys!” said a reproving voice; and Phin’s father, coming out of the wood-shed, approached the scene of the scuffle. “What’s the trouble, Phineas? What is it, Jack?”
“He’s choking me!” squealed Phineas.
“He’s got my half-dollar!” exclaimed Jack, without loosing his hold of Phin’s neck.
“Come, come!” said Mr. Chatford. “No quarrelling. Have you got his half-dollar?”
“Only in fun. Besides, ’tain’t his”; and Phin squalled again.