“But I did appreciate it!” cried Jim in a hurt voice.
“Not enough, apparently, to prevent you from trading it off for a broken-down piece of horseflesh.”
“He isn’t broken-down,” replied Jim, coming to the defense of Ticktock. “He’s a beautiful horse.”
“Well I’ll be—”
“Carl!” said Mrs. Meadows sharply.
“Well, it’s enough to make a man swear,” said Mr. Meadows. “Jim, who palmed this crazy-looking nag off on you? I’m going to take it back and get your watch back.”
“I don’t want to trade back,” cried Jim. “I want to keep Ticktock.”
“Who was it?” repeated his father. Mr. Meadows’ usually good-natured expression was replaced by one of angry determination. Jim knew he had best answer the question.
“A traveling horse trader named Ned Evarts,” he replied.
“A traveling horse trader!” shouted Mr. Meadows, grabbing his head in his hands in despair. “That is the last straw. There’s no telling where the rascal is now. Still, I’m so disgusted that I’ve half a mind to phone the sheriff to see if the man can be located.”