“Got any brothers or sisters?”
“I’ve got a kid brother about eight and two sisters. One’s three years older than I and the other’s twelve.”
“How’d you happen to come here to school? Haven’t you got schools out West?”
“Y-yes, sir, but father came from this part of the country and he always wanted me to go to school hereabouts.”
“Like it?”
“Very much. The fellows are a fine lot, I think.”
“Fine lot! Fine lot of scallywags!” said the farmer disgustedly. “Seems like you had some sense, but I guess you’ll be just like the rest of ’em after you’ve been there awhile. Mean, sneaky lot of young varmints, I call ’em!”
“I’m sorry you don’t like them, sir,” replied Jack coldly. “Perhaps you haven’t met the best of them.”
“Met ’em? Only place I ever met ’em was in my apple orchard.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Jack. “You—you’re Mr. Finkler, then?”