“You'll suffer for this!” he shouted.
“You won't make me!” said Phil contemptuously.
“You're the meanest boy in the village.”
“I am willing to leave that to the opinion of all who know me.”
“I'll tell my mother!”
“Go home and tell her!”
Jonas started for home, and Phil did not attempt to stop him.
As he saw Jonas reach the street and plod angrily homeward, he said to himself:
“I suppose I shall be in hot water for this; but I can't help it. Mrs. Brent always stands up for her precious son, who is as like her as can be. Well, it won't make matters much worse than they have been.”
Phil concluded not to go home at once, but to allow a little time for the storm to spend its force after Jonas had told his story. So he delayed half an hour and then walked slowly up to the side door. He opened the door, brushed off the snow from his boots with the broom that stood behind the door, and opening the inner door, stepped into the kitchen.