“I think you misapprehend the matter, Mrs. Ross,” said the storekeeper, politely. “Your son maintained his position in the middle of the road and required Harry to do all the turning out. Of course you are aware that the law will not sustain any one in this.”
“Who told you that my son did not turn out?” asked Mrs. Ross, hastily.
“Harry himself.”
“And do you credit his story?” demanded Mrs. Ross, with a sneer.
“I have always found him to be a boy of truth.”
“I believe he has wilfully deceived you. I believe he ran into my boy with the intention of injuring him,” said Mrs. Ross, violently.
Harry was about to speak up, when a young man who was standing by saved him the trouble.
“I was there, Mr. Mead, and heard the whole,” he said, “though neither of the boys saw me. I was in the piece to the left, behind the hedge. Phil Ross wouldn’t turn out a mite, and Harry had to do as he did. When Phil was thrown out Harry got down from his team and went to see if he was hurt.”
Mrs. Ross listened, pale with anger.
“I don’t believe a word of it!” she said angrily. “That man is in a conspiracy with the Gilbert boy against my poor darling. I demand that you discharge Harry Gilbert from your employment!”