"Joe were pretty well liked here, though he had a bit o' his dad's
sulkiness. He 'n' Ethel Thompson--crazy Will's gran'daughter--seemed
like to make up together; but even she don't know what drav him
off--'nless it were the Cap'n's suddint death--ner where he went to."
Uncle John seemed thoughtful, but asked no more questions, and McNutt
appeared to be relieved that he refrained. But the bill ought to be
forthcoming now, and the agent gave a guilty start as his
patron remarked:
"I want to settle with you for what you have done. I'm willing to pay a
liberal price, you understand, but I won't submit to being robbed
outrageously by you or any of your Millville people."
This was said so sternly that it sent McNutt into an ague of terror. He
fumbled for the smallest bill, tremblingly placed it in Mr. Merrick's
hand, and then with a thrill of despair realized he had presented the
dreadful No. 1!
"It's--it's--a--'count of what I spent out," he stammered.
Uncle John ran his eye over the bill.
"What are Plymouth Rocks?" he demanded.
"He--hens, sir."
"Hens at a dollar apiece?"
"Thoroughbreds, sir. Extry fine stock. I raised 'em myself."
"H-m. You've charged them twice."
"Eh?"
"Here's an item: 'Twelve Plymouth Rocks, twelve dollars;' and farther
down: 'Twelve Plymouth Rocks, eighteen dollars.
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