"I didn't say that. I said I had just as much right on this bridge as you. It's a public bridge."
"Bah! get out of the way and let me pass. I've wasted time enough on you." The man tugged nervously at his heavy mustache. "Which is the way to Tanner's Mill?"
To this the youth made no reply. Gathering up his fishing rod and his basket, he stepped to the river bank and prepared to make another cast into the water.
"I say, tell me the way to Tanner's Mill," repeated the man.
"I reckon you had better go elsewhere for your information," returned the boy quietly, but with a faint smile playing over his handsome, sunburned face.
"What, you young rascal, you won't tell me?" stormed the man.
"No, I won't. And I beg to let you know I am no rascal."
"You are a rascal," was the snappy reply. "Answer my question, or it will be the worse for you," and now the man leaped to the ground and advanced with clenched fists. Possibly he thought the youth would retreat; if so, he was mistaken.
"Don't you dare to touch me, sir. I am not your slave."
"You'll answer my question."