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“Here, slow-pokes, drop yer carrots in this here bin.” He indicated an empty oat-bin. “Clarence will tell the men where to instal their teams,” the hostess reflected. The boy, who had fought shy of this mere woman’s party, had spent the afternoon in the barn. “Miss Gordon, with all his book larnin’ he knowed no more ’bout black-jack than I know ’bout divin’ fer pearls, and the Bullock boys thort he was no good anyhow, ef he couldn’t beat their Par at cards. So one mornin’ they met him as he was goin’ to school, an’ they give him a good beatin’ up, then flung him in Rodd’s creek to cool him, bein’ winter. He crawled outer the creek, Miss Gordon, an’ never went to the school no more. It shorely was a jedgement on him fer playin’ those wicked card games. Moses, parse the ketchup.”.
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“Suppose you go down to the creek,” she replied with a peculiar smile. “May Nell and the twins went there some time ago. Harold, too.” Billy didn’t wait. Like all generous natures that are slow to anger, the passion once aroused possessed him to madness. He raced down the turnpike, his face aflame. Ahead he could see the Dorrs’ horse and buggy standing near the fence. Jimmy was on the ground beside the Twins; and Billy saw the whip descend more than once before he arrived. Had he known it the blows were make-believe, for moral effect alone. Jimmy was giving a lesson that his Southern breeding made him think necessary, if painful. “You keep still, Betsey! I’m going to watch!” he exclaimed, as if some one had spoken. “There’s nary a piece left, that greedy boy et it orl up.”.
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