“He pitched into me savage, father,” answered Zeke, who had picked himself up, and was now engaged in brushing the dust from his coat.
“Pitched into ye, did he?” repeated Joe Tucker grimly. “I reckon he didn’t know your father was ’round. What have you got to say for yourself, eh?”
Philip regarded his captor contemptuously, and didn’t struggle to escape, knowing that he was not a match for a man five inches taller than himself. But contempt he could not help showing, for he knew very well that Zeke had inherited his mean traits largely from his father.
“I’ll thank you to remove your hand from my collar, sir,” said Philip. “When you have done that, I will explain why I pitched into Zeke, as he calls it.”
“Don’t you let go, father!” said Zeke hastily. “He’ll run away, if you do.”
“If I do, you can catch me between you,” returned Philip coolly.
“I reckon that’s so,” said Mr. Tucker, withdrawing his hand, but keeping wary watch of our hero.
“Now go ahead!” said he.
Philip did so.
“I saw Zeke torturing a small dog,” he explained, “and I couldn’t stand by and let it go on.”