“Mebbe it wasn’t his scrappin’ day. And, of course, a bull terrier growlin’ ’round a feller’s legs is kinder disconcertin’--say, Sam, Hannibal showed plain enough he’d got a score to even with Groche. Don’t wonder at that! ’Member the mornin’ the dog come limpin’ home? Wal, anyhow, Peter didn’t put up a fight. He jest scowled, and cussed, and swore he’d found the wrench. Then I told him I supposed the wrench must ’a’ met him on the street and followed him home, and he shut up on that part of it. Then I called him a thief, and a few other pet names; and he acted queer, I swan he did!” “What did he do?” “Swelled up like a frog. Didn’t call names back at me, but behaved contemptuous-like, as if I was a cheap ’un to worry about a plain old wrench. Said he had money enough to buy me; or, anyhow, he knew where he could get a bunch of it for the askin’. Then I laughed at him, and he puffed up more’n ever. What’d I think of an even hundred dollars, heh? Wal, it was his, whenever he chose to say ’bout a dozen words. And there wa’n’t nobody else in Plainville that could say ’em. He knew something, he did! And then he sputtered so there was no makin’ head or tail of his nonsense.” Sam caught Lon’s arm. “What else happened? Tell me--quick!” There was an excitement in the boy’s tone that made Lon stare at him. “Why--what--what’s stirrin’ you up, Sam?” he demanded. “I’ll tell you afterward. Go on!” “Huh! That’s what Groche did. You see, Hannibal lost patience and took a nip at his calf, and Peter jest missed kickin’ Hannibal; and it struck me the gaiety of our social circle was gettin’ feverish. So I grabbed Hannibal’s collar, and told Groche that if I saw him again I’d have him arrested for thievin’. Over on the railroad a freight was gettin’ ready to pull out on the branch line. I hinted he’d better jump it, and let it give him a lift, if he was headin’ Payne’s Stream way. And I was sorry he couldn’t stay to collect that ghost hundred dollars he was dreamin’ about, but Hannibal wouldn’t be denied much longer; so he’d better beat it. Which also he done.” “You mean he ran for the train?” “Yep! And caught it--saw him.” “And he’s going to Payne Stream?” “Looked mighty much that way. But what you drivin’ at, Sam?” “Wait a minute! Father’s camps are up there, aren’t they?” “Yes; he’s got gangs lumberin’ three-four places along the stream.” “Hurrah!” cried Sam. Lon’s jaw sagged. “What--what in Sam Hill’s got into you? This ain’t the Fourth of July.” Sam was still clutching the man’s arm. “Look here, Lon! Wake up! Groche has been up-stream, got a job, come to town for some reason or other. You’ve started him back.” “Jesso!” “He boasted he could make a hundred dollars by telling something?” “That’s what he said.” “But you didn’t give him a chance to earn the money?” “No. Still, of course, most likely he was lyin’----”