"Joe,"—said Mr. Simlins. "Ne-ver fear—he'll see to himself."
"Here's some of his writin'," said Joe, returning with a spelling book. "All the boys gets him to write in their books." And laying it down by Mr. Simlins, Joe took his final departure.
"What do the boys want him to write in their books for?" growled Mr.
Simlins, surveying the signature.
"I believe," said Miss Cecilia, "he is very popular in the school."
"Well, Squire," pursued Mr. Simlins, "can Joe clinch this?"
"He aint with me—if that's what you mean," said Squire Deacon. "A man's writing don't prove much."
"Don't go no furder," said Mr. Simlins assentingly. "Well Squire—if you'll go furder I shall be wiser."
And freed from the fear of contradiction, the Squire had not the least objection to going further.
"He's not the man to have here," said Squire Deacon,—"I saw that the first day I saw him. I tried him,—and he didn't toe the mark."
"How did you try him?" growled Mr. Simlins. "I'd like to know how much he's up to. I haint found it out yet."