"No, you're not kicked out. I don't need you, that's all."
"We had er contrack, en yo's done busted hit!" flared Pete savagely.
Matt could not restrain a laugh at the little darky's rage.
"You got the best of our contract, Pete," said Matt. "You owe me about a dollar and a half, but I'm willing to call it square."
"Ah owes yo' more'n dat," fumed Pete. "Yo's done kicked me out, en Ah ain't er gwine tur fo'git. Hit's dat yaller trash dat's 'sponsible"—he shook his black fist at Ping—"but Ah's gwine tuh play eben wif yo' all fo' whut yo's done. Jess watch mah smoke!"
"You little rascal!" spoke up Lorry; "what do you mean by talking that way? Get out of here!"
"Ah's gotter right tuh stay anywhere Ah please erround dishyer lake," cried Pete. "Yo' kain't drive me off, nuther. Yah! Dat ole boat you's fixin' up fo' de race ain't worf nuffin'. Ollie Merton he's gotter boat dat is er boat, en he's gwinter beat yo' outen yo' boots, dat's whut he is. Ah wouldn't 'sociate wif no sich fellers as you, en Ah wouldn't work fo' Motor Matt ef he paid me a millyun dollahs er day! Jess yo' watch mah smoke—Ah'll git eben, yassuh!"
With that the angry little rascal turned and ran up the path. But he did not run far. As soon as a bend in the crooked course had hidden him from the eyes of Matt and Lorry, he plunged off along the side of the bank, hiding himself in the undergrowth, and working his way slowly down toward the boathouse.
As soon as Pete had vanished, Lorry turned to Matt with a laugh.