The angry farmer glanced from one to the other of the five lads. They gave him back look for look—unflinchingly.
“And don’t be too long about it, either,” added Tom, making the splinters fly. “We’re due at Kelly’s for a little feed, and then we want to get back to Milton. Don’t be too long, my friend, unless you want to spend the night in jail.”
The farmer gulped once or twice. The Adam’s apple in his throat went up and down. Clearly he was struggling with himself.
“Tut! Tut!” chided Tom. “You’d better go get the money. We can’t wait all day.”
“I—er—I——” The farmer seemed at a loss for words. Then, turning on his heel, he started toward the house. He was beaten.
“I—I’ll get it,” he flung back over his shoulder. “And then I’ll swear out warrants for your arrest. You’re trespassers, that’s what you are. I’ll fix you!”
“Trespassers? Oh, no,” returned Andy, sweetly. “We’re only good Samaritans. Perhaps you may have read of them in a certain book. Also we are acting as the attorneys for this gentleman, in collecting a debt due him. We are his counsel, and the law allows a man to have his counsel present at a hearing. I hardly think an action in trespass would lie against us, Mr. Snad; so don’t put yourself out about it.”
“That’s the stuff!”
“Good for you, Andy!”