“Old girl,” he said, mournfully, “I reckon the cards was stacked when they dealt me my hand in this game o’ life. I’m a storm centre that would put a barometer out of business, but”--he took hold of her ragged ear and shouted into it, as though the affirmation did his resolution good,--“it’s me for the Willard family, just the same, and Phin along with me at the finish. You never _did_ give a continental for me, old girl, till I had licked you to a standstill, and I know families that’s like you.” CHAPTER VI--SQUIRE PHIN HAS A WORD OF BUSINESS WITH KING BRADISH For the dearest affection the heart can hold Is the honest love of the nine-year-old. It isn’t checked by the five-barred gate Of worldly prudence or real-estate, And that is the reason why, till the end, A childhood lover is loyal friend. The little crowd that followed Klebe Willard out of the Look door-yard moved slowly, for the irate skipper formed the nucleus of the group and stopped every few steps to mop at his wounded ear with a big handkerchief, while he grunted threats and promises of vengeance. “I hope you’ll give it to him hot and heavy, Cap’n. He needs it. To be sure, I’ve done days’ work for him and got my pay, but I was never cussed so much before in my life as I was by him in that one week, and I don’t allow no man to talk that way to me.” This war-counsellor was Ezra Mayo, the carpenter, a sallow, weasened little man who had prudently run out of the door-yard at the showman’s first hostile movement. “And there’s others in the Look family that better be made to mind their own bus’ness,” he added with bitterness. He looked around apprehensively, and he now saw Squire Phin following slowly, as though to avoid overtaking them. A carriage was standing in front of Brickett’s store, and the man who occupied it leaned back with crossed legs and lazily kicked his foot over the wheel. A white hat, a black moustache and the light lining of the Goddard top emphasised the colour of his florid face. He looked prosperous, well-fed and entirely self-satisfied, and hailed the sputtering captain with great familiarity. As the Squire turned to ascend the outside stairway the man in the carriage flapped a greeting at him with careless hand, garbed in a tan glove. There was in the salute the same half-mocking condescension that marked the intercourse of King Bradish with most of the townsmen. But long before that, Squire Phin felt there was something more subtle than mere condescension in Bradish’s attitude toward him’. There Was a sneer under all, and there had been a sneer ever since the time when Palermo knew that Judge Willard wanted King Bradish for his son-in-law. As the lawyer toiled up his stairs he heard Bradish inquire sardonically: “Well, Klebe, which licked?”