"No, I won't," cried the ticket agent, "I'll have you all arrested."
"Who's going to do it, I'd like to know," asked another man derisively.
Meanwhile Thomas was shouting out his case, and succeeded in catching the ear of a farmer who sitting on the bags of meal in his wagon had paused to see what the trouble was about.
"It's my opinion," said the farmer deliberately, and stopping to clear his throat now and then with a sharp Hem! "that you want me to give you three chaps a poundin' that man, a taste of my whip, and it's also my opinion that I shall do it." With that he sprang from his wagon with surprising alertness considering he looked so old, and, whip in hand, he advanced upon the crowd.
They all fell back. He had "whip" in his eye, and beside, every one knew Jacob Bassett, and that there was no reason to think he would fail to do as he said.
Before all could desert Thomas, however, the last man had the benefit of the leather lash, and he ran off rubbing his leg, and uttering several ejaculations as if he had received enough.
"My man," said Farmer Bassett, tucking up his long whip under his arm and helping Thomas to his feet, "now what's the matter with you?"
"I'm in trouble," said Thomas briefly.
"So I should think," said the old farmer with a wise nod.
"I don't care about myself," said Thomas not regarding certain flapping portions of his once neat suit, nor mindful of the other signs of his predicament, "but it's young master and those other boys who were left to my care." At mention of them, he became helpless once more, and began to bemoan his fate.