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"It also belongs to your dear, gentle son," she grated, "leastwise I found it in one of his pants pockets." "Now, then," declared Scroggie, tossing his hat on the sward and drying his moist palms on his trouser-legs, "I'm goin' to black your eyes and pummel the nose off your face." "Oh Willium," she cried, "my heart is breakin'. Oh to think how I misjedged him!".
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"Why, I can't see that that ought'a make any difference," Scroggie replied. "If you folks down here know that Uncle left his money and place to your teacher, that ought'a be enough for Dad." "Swim?" "What?" "Fell out o' a tree," he managed to say. "Struck my head on a limb.".
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