“I—I kind of hate to whip him,” said Mr. Baxter forlornly. “He’s a good little boy, and I—I promised his mother I’d never whip him unless I actually caught him doing something bad.” “Who said you had to whip him?” demanded Mr. Link. “I wouldn’t let you whip him, even if you wanted to,” stated Mr. Sikes flatly. “All I want is for us to talk to him about—well, about his future.” “It has just occurred to me that it might be advisable for me to find Oliver and have a talk with him privately before we drag him before this—er—before his executioners,” said Mr. Sage, with kindly irony. “I could explain gently and—” “I know just what you’d do, Parson,” broke in Mr. Sikes. “You’d explain things to him by telling him there was a couple of blamed old fools in here making up a story he oughtn’t to pay any attention to—just be polite and say ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No, sir’ and act like a little gentleman no matter what we say, but not to worry, because there ain’t a damn’ thing to worry about.” “I dare say you are right,” sighed the kind-hearted minister. “My little girl, it appears, was the cause of this fight, Brother Baxter. I regret to say that Jane—ah—sort of egged him on. It does not seem to me to be quite just that Oliver should be penalized for his—shall we say an act of chivalry? Naturally I am inclined to favor the boy. No doubt if Jane had refrained from—” “That ain’t the point,” interrupted Mr. Link. “The thing is, did he lose his temper or did he not—and if so, is it safe to let him go on losing it like that? You can’t tell what it will lead to.” “What I want to know,” broke in Mr. Baxter, “is who he’s been fighting with.” “Sammy Parr,” replied the three visitors. “Sammy Parr? Why, doggone it, it ain’t more than an hour ago they were playing hopscotch out in my barn lot. I never saw two boys more friendly and happy than they were.” “That’s the worst of it,” said Mr. Link solemnly: “It goes to prove that when Oliver gets mad he don’t know what he’s doing. It’s these violent, ungovernable tempers that raises thunder, Ollie. The kind that flares up like a powder explosion, does a lot of damage, and then dies down like a breeze. Fighting fit to kill one minute, smiling the next. They’re the worst kind.” It was decided by Messrs. Sikes and Link, over the objections of Mr. Sage, to have Oliver October up before the tribunal forthwith. The boy’s father apparently had no voice in the matter.