In spite of the seriousness of the affair I could not help but laugh.
Duncan had no doubt thought it a great lark to rob the widow's
orchard, never dreaming of the wrong he was doing or of the injury to
the trees. Now his nose was swollen, his clothes soiled, and he had
suffered defeat in every way.

I had no doubt that he would do all in his power to get even with me.
He hated me and always had. At school I had surpassed him in our
studies, and on the ball field I had proved myself a superior player.
I do not wish to brag about what I did, but it is necessary to show
why Duncan disliked me.

Nor was there much love lost on my side, though I always treated him
fairly. The reason for this was plain.

As I have stated, his father, Aaron Woodward, was at one tune a
fellow-clerk with my father. At the time my father was arrested,
Woodward was one of his principal accusers. Duncan had, of course,
taken up the matter. Since then Mr. Woodward had received a large
legacy from a dead relative in Chicago, or its suburbs, and started
the finest general store in Darbyville. But his bitterness toward us
still continued.

That the man knew something about the money that had been stolen I did
not doubt, but how to prove it was a difficult problem that I had
pondered many times without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.

I watched Duncan out of sight and then turned and walked slowly toward
the house.