grinning. He was so close to the other
that they all but touched. "And when did the cat bring _you_ in?"

In very horror those lead-pipe legs of Johnnie's almost gave way beneath
him, so that he clung to the table for support. "Oh!" he breathed.

But Mr. Perkins was smiling. "The cat brought me in just before he
brought you in," he answered quietly.

The reply wrought an instant and startling change in Big Tom. The smile
went from the bloodshot eyes, giving place to that white flash of rage.
The heavy nose gave a quick twist. Every hair in the short beard seemed
to bristle. "Now there's somebody in this room that's gittin' fresh," he
observed; "and freshness from a kid is somethin' I can't stand. I don't
mention no name, but! If it happens _again_"--he paused for
emphasis--"I'll slap the fancy eyeglasses right off his face!"

There was a tense pause. The two at the center of the room were gazing
straight at each other; and it seemed to Johnnie, wavering weakly
against the table, that he would die from fear.

However, Mr. Perkins was not frightened. His hat was in his left hand.
He let it drop to the floor. But he did not move back an inch, while
those well-kept hands curled themselves into knots so hard that their
knuckles were topped with white. "You wanted to see me?" he said.

"Y're wrong!" declared Big Tom. "I didn't want t' see y'. I had t' see
y'."

"I note the distinction," returned Mr. Perkins.

"Y' do! Well, just listen t' me a second," counseled Barber, "before we
git started on to what I've got t' say." Now his anger flamed higher. He
began to shake a big finger. "Don't you put on no fancy airs with me!
Y' git that? For the good and simple reason that I won't stand for 'em!"
He chawed on nothing.

"I was not aware that I _was_ putting on any fancy airs," answered Mr.
Perkins. "Airs are something that I don't--waste."

"Any high-falutin' stuff would be wasted 'round here," went on Barber.
"We're just plain, hard-workin', decent people.--And now we'll git down
to brass tacks." He passed in front of Mr. Perkins and settled himself
heavily in the morris chair.

The scoutmaster faced about, found the kitchen chair, and sat. "I'm
listening," he said. He was businesslike, even cordial.

"You seem t' hang 'round here about two-thirds of your time," commented
Big Tom, hunting his pipe.

"No," contradicted Mr. Perkins, easily. "Lately, I've been coming here
one hour a day."

"And just what's the idear