“Here comes the young ruffian!” said Mrs. Badger as soon as he came within hearing distance. “Here comes the wicked boy who tried to kill my poor Andrew.”
“That is not true, Mrs. Badger,” said Bill earnestly. “I was only defending myself.”
“You hear, Mr. Badger. He as much as tells me I lie! Do you hear that?” demanded the incensed woman.
“Bill Benton,” said Mr. Badger sternly, “I hear you have made a savage and brutal attack on Andrew Jackson. Now, what have you to say for yourself, sir?”
“He struck me twice with a whip, Mr. Badger, and I got mad. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“You might have killed him!” broke in Mrs. Badger.
“No, I wouldn’t, ma’am.”
“Contradicting me again! If there was ever a boy looked like a young fiend, you did when I came out to save my boy from your brutal temper. Oh, you’ll swing on the gallows some day, sir! I’m sure of that.”
To an unprejudiced observer all this would have been very ridiculous. The delicate, refined-looking boy, whose face showed unmistakable gentleness and mildness, almost carried to an extreme, was about the last boy to whom such words could suitably have been addressed.
“Andrew Jackson, did you strike Bill with a whip?” asked Mr. Badger, turning to his son.