“What do you mean, you young scoundrel?” demanded the gentleman who had interfered.
Tom looked at him, and discovered that it was Squire Pemberton, the father of his late opponent.
“He hit me first,” said Tom.
“He called me a traitor,” added Fred. “I won’t be called a traitor by him, or any other fellow.”
“What do you mean by calling my son a traitor, you villain?”
“I meant just what I said. He is a traitor. He said he hoped the South would beat.”
“Suppose he did. I hope so too,” added Squire Pemberton.
The squire thought, evidently, that this ought to settle the question. If he hoped so, that was enough.
“Then you are a traitor, too. That’s all I’ve got to say,” replied Tom, boldly.
“You scoundrel! How dare you use such a word to me!” roared the squire, as he moved towards the blunt-spoken little patriot.