"
"All right, Tim," said Cameron, "I'll get him. They are evidently up to
no good."
"What's yer name?" said Tim hurriedly.
"Cameron!"
"Come on, then!" he cried, dragging Cameron at a run towards his father.
"Here, Dad!" he cried, "this is my friend, Mr. Cameron! Come on home.
I'm going to hitch up. We'll be awful late for the chores and we got
them groceries to git. Come on, Dad!"
"Aw, gwan! yer a cheeky kid anyway," said Sam, giving Tim a shove that
nearly sent him on his head.
"Hold on there, my man, you leave the boy alone," said Cameron.
"What's your business in this, young feller?"
"Never mind!" said Cameron. "Tim is a friend of mine and no one is going
to hurt him. Run along, Tim, and get your horses."
"Friend o' Tim's, eh!" said Haley, in half drunken good nature. "Friend
o' Tim's, friend o' mine," he added, gravely shaking Cameron by the
hand. "Have a drink, young man. You look a' right!"
Cameron took the bottle, put it to his lips. The liquor burned like
fire.
"Great Caesar!" he gasped, contriving to let the bottle drop upon a
stone. "What do you call that?"
"Pretty hot stuff!" cried Haley, with a shout of laughter.
But Sam, unable to see the humour of the situation, exclaimed in a rage,
"Here, you cursed fool! That is my bottle!"
"Sorry to be so clumsy," said Cameron apologetically, "but it surely
wasn't anything to drink, was it?"
"Yes, it jest was something to drink, was it?" mocked Sam, approaching
Cameron with menace in his eye and attitude.
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