“I don’t care to stay where I’m not wanted,” replied Jack haughtily.
“Who said you weren’t wanted?” demanded the farmer gruffly. “Guess you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say, but it’s Jack Borden.”
“Christened Jack, were you?”
“John.”
“Why don’t you call it John then? Ain’t that a good enough name? John was my father’s name and his father’s name, too; and it’s mine. Good sensible name, I call it.”
“My mother called me Jack, sir.”
“Oh, she did, eh? Well, mothers have that right, I guess. How you going to get home?”
“Back to school, do you mean, sir? I guess I’ll walk. I don’t mind, because it will be cooler by that time, I guess.”