"Thrash him. It's the only way to cure him of his cantankerous conduct."
Jed was of good height for his age, and unusually thickset and strong. Though poorhouse fare was hardly calculated to give him strength, he had an intimate friend and school companion on a farm near by whose mother often gave him a substantial meal, so that he alone of the inmates of the poorhouse could afford to be comparatively indifferent to the mean table kept by the managers.
Jed was five feet six, and Simeon Fogson but two inches taller. Fogson, however, was not a well man. He was a dyspeptic, and frequently indulged in alcoholic drinks, which, as my young readers doubtless know, have a direct tendency to impair physical vigor.
"Get me the whip, Gloriana," said Mr. Fogson fiercely, addressing his wife by her rather uncommon first name. "I will see whether this young upstart is to rule you and me and the whole establishment."
"I don't care about ruling anybody except myself," said Jed.
"You can't rule yourself. I am put in authority over you."
"Who put you in authority over me?" asked Jed defiantly.
"The town."
"And did the town give you leave to rob me? Answer me that!"
"Did you ever hear the like?" exclaimed Mrs. Fogson, raising her arms in almost incredulous surprise.