Flint volunteered.
"So you got to be kind of strict--and--and grouchy--like."
The sheriff handed his empty cup to Roy and smiled good-naturedly.
"Where does Old Man Stanton live?" asked Tom, who had been silent while
the others were talking.
"'Long the Nyack road, but he has his office in Nyack--he's a lawyer,"
said the visitor, as he drew his rubber hat down over his ears.
"Can we get back to Nyack by that other road?"
"Whatcher goin' to do?"
"We'll have to go and see Old Man Stanton," Tom said, "then if we don't
get pinched we'll start north."
Mr. Flint looked at him in astonishment.
"I wouldn't say we've done any damage," said Tom in his stolid way, "and
I believe in that about any port in a storm. But if he's the kind of a
man who would think different, then we've got to go and tell him, that's
all. We can pay him for the stanchions we chopped up."
"Wall, you're a crazy youngster, that's all, but if yer sot on huntin'
fer trouble, yer got only yerself to blame. Ye'll go before a justice uv
the peace, the whole three uv year, and be fined ten dollars apiece,
likely as not, an' I don't believe ye've got twenty-five dollars between
the lot uv yer."
"Right you are," said Roy. "We are poor but honest, and we spurn--don't
we, Pee-wee?"
"Sure we do," agreed Pee-wee.
"Poverty is no disgrace," said Roy dramatically.
The man, though not overburdened with a sense of humor, could not help
smiling at Roy and he went away laughing, but scarcely crediting their
purpose to venture into the den of "Old Man Stanton.
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