“And it’s all your fault!” exclaimed Philip, angrily. “My buggy’s broken, too, and all because you ran into me, you beggar!”
“I wouldn’t allow you to call me names if you hadn’t been punished already for your unreasonable conduct,” said Harry, calmly. “Whatever has happened you brought upon yourself.”
“Catch my horse!” ordered Philip, with the air of a master addressing a servant.
“I’ve got something else to do,” said Harry, coolly, and he sprang into the store wagon.
“Are you going to drive off and leave me here?” demanded Philip, enraged.
“I must, for my time isn’t my own. It belongs to Mr. Mead. I would help you otherwise—though you are to blame for what has happened.”
“You will suffer for this!” exclaimed the rich man’s son, gazing at his broken buggy in helpless anger. “You’ll have to pay for all the damage you have done!”
“You can go to law about it, if you want to,” said Harry, as he gathered the reins into his hands, and he drove off. “I’ve a good defense.”
To Philip’s disgust, Harry drove off, leaving him alone with his disabled carriage. It was a good time to consider whether he had acted wisely in demanding more than the law or custom allowed him, but Philip was too angry for cool consideration.
He could not persuade himself that a boy like Harry, the son of a poor widow, who had to work for his own living, had equal rights with himself.