He saw the whole thing,
as he thought, and he relished the joke hugely. Shaking and cackling
with laughter, he came over and leaned against the picket fence. His
ridicule exasperated Mr. Hand, who suddenly resolved that he did not
want Mr. Baizley's assistance. He scowled menacingly at the young
ruffian, and then replied to Ted's beseeching plea:
"You needn't talk to me, and think you're going to come round me with
your soft soap. You're all alike, the whole lot of you. You play a
disgraceful trick on me, and then your mother slams the door in my face.
You're a pack of fools. When you're just paupers, at my mercy for the
roof that covers you, one'd think, even if you hadn't any decency,
you might know what side your bread was buttered on. I reckon you
expect everyone to lick your shoes because your name's Carter! Well,
your name's mud now. I'm going to foreclose right off, and out you'll
go next spring. And I don't want to hear no talk about it."
Ted's face got very red, and it was with difficulty he kept back the
tears of shame and bitterness, as he realized the consequences of
his folly. But Will Hen Baizley was there, so he held himself manfully
erect, and glared defiantly at the tough who was grinning over the fence.
Mr. Hand pushed past and was about to open the gate, when Will spoke:
"That's all right, Mr. Hand," said the tactful youth, soothingly. "Of
course I can't blame you. Don't think I blame you. Business is business,
and you might have honestly enough turned us out a year ago.
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