Davie was whirling around now so fast that Old Man Peters preferred to try the stick on the little legs instead of the small shoulders in the calico blouse, while he roared, “I’ll make you dance. Drop that basket, will you!”
“Here—what you doin’?” somebody called out, and a young man leaped the stone wall. “Hulloa, old Peters, you stop that!”
Old Man Peters turned around. He would have dropped the stick, but the young man saved him the trouble by seizing it to break it into two pieces and toss them into the dusty road.
“He’s ben a-sassin’ me,” cried the old man, pointing to David, who had sunk down on the grass by the side of the road, still hanging to the basket.
“Well, you ain’t a-goin’ to beat up any boy in Badgertown. Now I tell you, Peters! And who wouldn’t sass you, I wonder. Here you, get up,” he said, going over to David.
But David showing no inclination to get up, the man turned his face over.
“Well, I’ll be blowed, ef tain’t one o’ th’ Pepper children,” he exclaimed, starting back. “You’ve got to take somethin’ from me, now I tell you, Old Man Peters!” He pushed up his gray cotton shirt-sleeves and advanced on the old man, “for beatin’ up one o’ Mis Pepper’s boys.”
“You git away—tain’t nothin’ to you, Jim Thompson,” cried Mr. Peters, “an’ I’ll have th’ law on you, ef you tetch me!” He put up both horny hands and tried to huddle back of the scrub oak.
“Th’ law’s got to deal with you, Old Peters, first, an’ it’ll fall pretty heavy for hurtin’ one o’ them Pepper children,” declared Thompson, dragging him by an angry hand back to the road side.
“David—David Pepper!” screamed the old farmer, “you tell him. I ’ain’t hurt ye. Tell him, David. Ow! you let me be, Jim Thompson!”