CHAPTER V
ZEB’S OPINION OF APPLE SPROUTS
“Zebedee, my son,” remarked old Deacon Fuller to that young gentleman, when he returned from driving the cows to pasture, the evening after the affair at the spring-board—“Zebedee, what is this I hear of your violent threats against the Rev. Dr. Dryer?”
The deacon was standing in the kitchen doorway, deliberately stripping the leaves from a handful of strong, well-grown apple-tree “suckers,” which he had recently gathered in the orchard back of the house.
For a moment Zeb stood in silence, eying the ominous-looking sprouts with a squint in which a very grave expression was beginning to make its appearance, and his father continued:
“Dr. Dryer has been here, himself, and he tells me you employed the most disrespectful and threatening language.”
“No, father,” said Zeb, stoutly, “no disrespect at all. I only wanted to drown him.”
“Drown him! Zebedee! Drown Dr. Dryer? Are you crazy?”
“Not a bit, father; it might be bad for him—just a little—but think what a splendid thing it would be for the Academy. We’ll never get rid of him any other way.”