“You blamed old--” Dick Warren began, threateningly, as he bristled up to the farmer, his fists drawn; but Walton put out his hand and stopped him.
“He's right, Dick,” he said, and there was a pained look about his sensitive mouth. “The circumstances are dead against us.”
“Yes, I reckon they are, gents,” grinned the man at the gate. “Anyways, I don't think you will find a buyer fer that timepiece. Good-day. There ain't nothing in all this palaver fer _me_,” and his eye twinkled as he finished. “My wife's got dinner waitin' for me: a good fat hen, baked to a turn, with rich corn-meal stuffin', an' hot biscuits, coffee, string-beans, and fried ham--the country-cured sort that you've read about!”
|I SWEAR, I'd enjoy firing _his_ barn!” Dick fumed, as the two friends walked on through the beating sun. “I don't think I can stand much more of it, Fred. I'm all gone inside. The lining of my stomach has folded over.” They were passing the corner of a field where, in the distance, they could see two men at work digging ditches to drain the boggy land, and they paused again to rest under the shade of a tree.
“I guess they will stop soon and go home to a square meal,” Dick said, bitterly; and then his roving glance fixed itself on a spot in the corner of the snake-fence near by.
“By George!” he exclaimed, exultantly, “we are in luck! Gee, what a pick-up!”
“What is it, now?” Walton asked. But the boy was bounding away toward the fence. “You wait and see--gee, what luck!”
Walton stood and watched him as he climbed over the fence, dived into the thick underbrush, and reappeared with a covered tin pail in his hands. As he came back he unfastened the lid and laughed loud and long. “Full to the brim!” he chuckled. “Meat, bread, pie, and a bottle of fresh milk. We can leg it along the road a piece and sit down to it, or stow it away as we walk. My dinner-bell's rung, old man.”
“Put it back, Dick! Go put it back!” Fred said, firmly, his eyes averted.
The boy stared, a blended expression of surprise and keen disappointment capturing his features.
“Do you really mean it, Fred?” he asked, his lip falling, the pail hanging motionless at his side.
“Yes, it is not ours,” the other said. “Put it back before they see you, and then I'll--I'll try to explain what I mean.”