Zenas, with a yell, sprang into the air and, tripping as he came down, alighted in a sprawling heap among the freshly-tarred lobster pots. His gray goatee wagged savagely as he lay there impotently clenching his fists, alternating this performance by vigorously rubbing his elbows. In the meantime his son, giving vent to a no less piercing cry, had executed a backward bound from the fence with as much velocity as if he had been a rubber ball.
“Ouch! What in ther name of time hit us!” he demanded.
“Dear land o’ Goshen! What was thet?” shouted his parent.
Frank had some difficulty in steadying his voice to reply. The sight of the two lately militant figures sprawling there on the beach was too much for his gravity.
“That,” he managed to gasp out at length, “that was a mild current of electricity running through those wires. You recollect I warned you not to touch them.”
“You—you—you young villain!” roared Zenas, springing to his feet with great agility for one of his years, “I’ll have ther law on yer!”
“Consarn you, yes!” echoed Zeb, “assault and battery!”
“No, not batteries—a dynamo,” Frank could not resist saying. “If you think of going to law over it,” he added, more seriously, “please recollect that I warned you not to touch those wires. Furthermore, you were defiantly trespassing on private property, although you could see that sign from quite a distance out on the water.”
The elder Daniels’ face was a study at this. But his son continued to bellow angrily.
“You may hev injured dad and me fer life!” he shouted.