“Don’t scare you, hey?” sneered the farmer. “Wa’al, I cal’kerlate ter put quite a change in yer feelings afore long. Climb down out ‘er that thar sky-buggy an’ look slippy.”
The boys held a hasty consultation. Things began to look bad.
“Maybe we’d better pay the old wooden-head his hundred and be getting on,” said Ned. “We don’t want to be arrested or anything like that.”
“I think that’s all a bluff,” said Jack. “Still, if we humor him it may be better than to fight him.”
“Wa’al, are yer comin’?” demanded the farmer.
“Oh, dry up,” growled out Joyce, unable to contain himself any longer.
“Dry up, hey?” snorted the farmer. “I guess you’ll do the dryin’ yerselves. I wouldn’t take no money now. It’s satisfaction I want. I’ll hev the whole passel of yer up afore the squire in the morning.”
This certainly looked ominous. The man was clearly as stubborn as one of his own oxen, and had made up his mind to be as ugly as he could. Jack wished that Joyce had not made his unfortunate remark and tried to smooth matters over. But it was no use attempting to calm the ruffled feelings of the angry agriculturist.
“Climb out of thar now and be right smart about it,” he snorted. “I’ll show you thet you can’t sass Si Turpin and not suffer for it.”
“But, see here——” began Jack.