"I don't care to lend."

"Make it ten cents."

"Not a cent."

"You're mighty independent about it," he sneered.

"I have to be when such fellows as you tackle me," I returned with
spirit.

"You're mighty high toned for a boy of your age."

"I'm too high toned to let you talk to me in this fashion. I want you
to leave at once."

The tramp-- for the man was nothing else-- scowled worse than before.

"I'll leave when I please," he returned coolly.

I was nonplussed. I was in a hurry to get away to drive Widow Canby to
the station. To leave the man hanging about the house with no one but
my sister Kate home was simply out of the question.

Suddenly an idea struck me. Like most people who live in the country,
Mrs. Canby kept a watch-dog-- a large and powerful mastiff called
Major. He was tied up near the back stoop out of sight, but could be
pressed into service on short notice.

"If you don't go at once, I'll set the dog on you."