"You pauper brats," began Mr. Hand, advancing along the garden path,
"I'll teach you to play your dirty tricks on me!" And he raised his
heavy cane.
With a quick movement of his arm, Will had the stick firmly in his
grip so that Mr. Hand could not stir it.
"Stop that, Mr. Hand!" said Will, quietly. "You mustn't do that, sir.
It was never intended _you_ should fall into that trap, sir. It was
set for another person altogether. You know, sir, you heard me yell
to you not to sit down on it!"
"Let go of my stick, you young scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Hand, somewhat
less outrageously than he had spoken before. The firmness of Will's
grasp and the steadiness of his glance had a quieting effect on the
money lender's temper.
"Certainly, sir," said Will, releasing the cane. "Only don't do anything
foolish. I don't wonder you are angry, very angry indeed. But I tried
to stop you. And now we want to apologize and tell you how sorry we--"
"Indeed, indeed we are sorry, sir," burst in Ted, impetuously. "We
wouldn't have had it happen for worlds, Mr. Hand!"
"Very likely not--not for a farm, in fact," retorted Mr. Hand with
elaborate sarcasm.
"But it was only I did it, and I'm the only one to blame, sir," urged
Ted, desperately, catching the full meaning of the last remark.
By this time Will Hen Baizley had approached. He paused in the middle
of the road, filled with curiosity. Catching sight of Mr. Hand's absurd
appearance, he understood what had happened.
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