Peterkin had been in Springfield nearly a week, and after his return home had waited a little before broaching the subject to his son; so that it was not until the morning before the day of the lawsuit that he learned the truth by closely questioning Billy, who shielded and defended Jerrie as far as possible.
'Not have you! Refused you! Don't love you! Don't care for money! Thunderation! What does the girl mean? Is she crazy? Is she a fool? Is she in love with some other idiot?'
'I th-think so, yes; th-though it did not occur to me then,' Billy answered, very meekly; 'and if so she ca-can't care for me any mo-more that I ca-can care for any other girl.'
'And you are a fool, too,' was the affectionate rejoinder. 'I'll be dummed if you ain't a pair! Who is the lucky man? Not that dog Harold, who is goin' to swear agin' us to-morrow? If it is, I b'lieve I'll shoot him.'
'Father,' Billy cried in alarm, 'be quiet; if I can st-stand it, you can.'
But Peterkin swore he wouldn't stand it. He'd do something, he didn't know what; and all the morning he went about the house like a madman, swearing at his wife, because she wasn't up to snuff, and couldn't hoe her own with the 'ristocrats; swearing at Billy because he was a fool, and so small that 'twas no wonder a bean-pole like Jerrie wouldn't look at him, and swearing at Ann Eliza because her hair was so red, and because she had sprained her ankle for the sake of having Tom Tracy bring her home, hoping he would keep calling to see her, and thus give her a chance to rope him in, which she never could as long as the world stood.
'Neither you nor Bill will ever marry, with all your money, unless you take up with a cobbler, and he with a washwoman,' was his farewell remark, as he finally left the house about three o'clock and started for the village, where he had some of his own witnesses to see before taking the train for Springfield at five.
His wife had ventured to suggest that he go in a carriage, as it was so warm, but he had answered, savagely:
'Go to thunder with your carriage and coat-of-arms! What good have they ever done us only to make folks laugh at us for a pack of fools? Nothing under heaven gives us a h'ist, and I'm just goin' to quit the folderol and pad it on foot, as I used to when I was cap'n of the 'Liza Ann—durn it!'
And so, with his bag in his hand, he started rapidly down the road in the direction of Shannondale. But the sun was hot, and he was hot, and his bag was heavy, and, cursing himself for a fool that he had not taken the carriage, he finally struck into the park as a cooler, if a longer, route to the station.