The only passenger in the stage, a woman with a big bandbox, got out more dead than alive, as the horses swung up to the little station; and the men collected there waiting for the train to come, wrenched Johnny, notwithstanding his howls, from his seat and down to the platform.
“Who is that boy?” demanded the passenger when she could get her breath.
“He b’longs to Mrs. Fargo, one o’ th’ rich folks that’s stayin’ here this summer,” said one man, rolling his quid over to the other cheek.
“Rich, is he?” the woman set down her bandbox, and advanced to Johnny. “Well, I’m goin’ to shake that boy, ’cause I know his folks won’t; an’ I want to see it done.” And before any one could put up a hand, she seized Johnny’s sailor-collar, and shook him smartly. Then she picked up her bandbox, patted out her dress in satisfaction, and sat down to wait for the train.
Mr. Tisbett, running along quite blown, came up just then, as Johnny ran to the woman.
“You shook me,” said Johnny, with blazing cheeks.
“I know it,” said the woman grimly; “an’ if I had time before the train comes, an’ wasn’t so beat out with th’ shock, I’d do it again.”
Johnny clinched his small hands, and beat the air fruitlessly. “I’ll tell Mr. King,” he howled.
“Hey? What’s that you say?” cried the woman.
“I’ll tell Mr. King,” screamed Johnny, quite red in the face.