“Go to New York?” he gasped.
“That’s what I said.”
“Go to New York—jest when yer gittin’ of some account ter me?”
“Oh, I’ve been of some account to you for some time, and any way father always paid my board before last fall, you know,” said Don cheerfully.
Uncle Arad snorted angrily, and his eyes began to flash fire.
“Paid your board!” he exclaimed. “I dunno what put that inter your head.”
“Father put it there, that’s who,” declared Don hotly.
“I never give him no receipts for board money,” cried the old man. “You can’t show a one!”
“I don’t suppose you did,” returned Don, with scorn. “You never give receipts for anything if you can help it. If you’d given receipts to your own brother as you ought, you wouldn’t be in possession of this farm now.”
“I wouldn’t, hey?” cried the old man, goaded to desperation by this remark, which he knew only too well to be true. “You little upstart you! Ye’ll go ter New York, whether ’r no, will ye?”