“‘JUST TELL THEM THAT YOU HEARD ME SAY I WAS GOING BACK TO BOSTON.’”
“Harry,” said Squire Brackett, the second evening following this, “I want you to go over to Captain Sam’s and take this note to Mr. Carleton. It’s about a little business transaction, so be careful and don’t lose it. You’re pretty careless sometimes.”
“Why, he’s gone away,” answered Harry Brackett. “No use taking that over to Captain Sam’s.”
“Gone away!” shouted the squire, seizing his son by the collar. “Gone away! When did he go?”
“Captain Sam says he went yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it before?” cried Squire Brackett, shaking his son vigorously.
“Why, how did I know anything about it?” whined Harry Brackett. “How did I know you wanted to see him before he went? You’re always blaming me for things. I’m not to blame.”
On second thought, Squire Brackett came to the same conclusion. Still, it being his habit of mind invariably to blame somebody else for his own misfortunes, he had to vent his irritation on his son.
“Well, clear out of here!” he cried. “You never know anything except at the wrong time.”
Harry Brackett disappeared.