The squire’s conception of it was not so pleasant, however, and he took his departure.
“Harry,” he said, at the dinner-table that day, “what’s this I hear about your trying to buy that boat of Jack Harvey?”
Harry Brackett, taken somewhat by surprise, hesitated for a moment. “Why—why—that was a sort of a joke,” he answered, finally, forcing himself to smile, as though he thought it funny.
“A joke, eh?” retorted the squire, sharply. “Well, don’t you think you have had joking enough to last you one spell? Here it is getting so I can’t go down the road without folks looking at me and grinning. Haven’t you any respect for your father’s dignity? Don’t you know I’m of some consequence in this town?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the son, dutifully. “But I didn’t bring your name into it. I didn’t say you wanted it.”
“Well, what did you do it for?” repeated the squire.
“Just for fun,” insisted Harry Brackett.
“May be so,” said the squire, eying his son with some suspicion; “but I’m not so sure of that, either. Now don’t you go getting into any mischief. You’ve had just about fun enough lately.”
“All right, sir,” answered Harry Brackett.
Nevertheless, it was not exactly all right, from the squire’s standpoint. Not altogether above taking an unfair advantage of others, he was naturally suspicious of everybody else; and this lack of faith in humanity extended to his son. So he said no more, but kept his eyes open.