“’Cos it won’t. Thet’s why. Brig Island’s bin here a sight longer than you er I, and it’s goin’ ter stay hyar arter we’re gone, too.”
“I don’t quite see what that has to do with it.”
“Waal, I do. We ain’t used ter bein’ dictated to by a passel of kids. I’ve bin usin’ this island fer ten years or more. It suits me first rate, and I propose ter go on using it, and ther ain’t no kids kin stop me,” spoke Zenas stubbornly.
“Well, we shan’t keep you from it for more than a few weeks at most—at least I hope so,” rejoined Frank, with perfect good nature, “after that, although we have leased it for a year, we shall be glad to have you use it in any way you like.”
“I want ter use it right now, I tell yer.”
“Well, you can’t!”
Frank’s control of himself was beginning to ooze away in the face of such mule-like obstinacy.
“Kain’t, eh? We’ll see. You’re alone on the island ter-day, I seen ther other kids go ashore this mornin’. Come on, Zeb, climb over thet fence.”
“Thet’s right, dad,” applauded Zeb, “ef he gives yer any sass jes’ hit him a clip in ther jaw. Reckon that ’ull stop him fer a while.”
As his son spoke Zenas made as if to lay his hand on the top wire of the fence preparatory to scaling it. Frank Chester stepped hastily forward.