By this time Pomp had freed himself from the string that fettered
his wrists, and danced in glee round John Haynes, in whose
discomfiture he felt great delight.
"You'd better pick up your pail and run home," said Frank. He was
generously desirous of saving John from further humiliation.
"Will you go away quietly if I will let you up, John?" he asked.
"No, d----you!" returned John, writhing, his face almost livid
with passion.
"I am sorry," said Frank, "for in that case I must continue to
hold you down."
"What is the trouble, boys?" came from an unexpected quarter.
It was Mr. Maynard, who, chancing to pass along the road, had
been attracted by the noise of the struggle.
Frank explained in a few words.
"Let him up, Frank," said the old man. "I'll see that he does no
further harm."
John rose to his feet, and looked scowlingly from one to the
other, as if undecided whether he had not better attack both.
"You've disgraced yourself, John Haynes," said the old farmer
scornfully. "So you would turn negro-whipper, would you? Your
talents are misapplied here at the North.
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