“Then you'll have to go some other way. You can't cross my property.”
Hallet, on his knees, looked out over the seat.
“What's the matter with you?” he asked, angrily. “Didn't you say the town could use this Lane?”
“Yes. Any one may use it as long as he behaves himself. When he doesn't behave he forfeits the privilege. Kendrick, you hear me! Go back.”
“But I don't want to go back, Ros. If I do I'll have to go clear round by Myrick's, two mile out of my way.”
“You should have thought of that before you brought that crowd with you. I won't have this Lane made a public nuisance by any one. Zeb, I'm ashamed of you.”
Zeb turned to his passengers. “There!” he whined, “I told you so, Tim. I said you hadn't ought to act that way.”
“Aw, what are you givin' us!” sneered Hallet. “You thought 'twas as funny as anybody, Zeb Kendrick. Look here, Ros Paine! I thought you was down on them Coltons. We fellers are only havin' a little fun with 'em for bein' so stuck-up and hoggish. Can't you take a joke?”
“Not your kind. Go back, Zeb.”
“But—but can't I use the Lane NO more?” pleaded the driver. “I won't fetch 'em here agin.”