“That’s all right, sir. We’re willing to pay you whatever is right for the damage we have done,” said Jack, in as pacific a voice as he could assume.

“Fine times these be when a passel of kids kin come along in a flyin’ contraption an’ take off a man’s roof!” exclaimed the angry farmer, far from being pacified.

“It was an accident,” declared Jack; “we are just as sorry for it as you are.”

The farmer in his rage had paid not the slightest attention to the Electric Monarch, but his two hired men stood looking at it with open mouths. They had never seen anything like it, and the farmer’s orders to them to “close up” fell upon deaf ears.

“Accident be dol-dinged,” exclaimed Farmer Turpin angrily; “it warn’t no accident. You done it a-pupose.”

“We certainly did not,” replied Jack, with some heat. “Do you suppose we’d want to wreck our craft for a rotten old roof?”

“Rotten old roof!” bellowed the farmer furiously. “I’ll show yer how rotten it was. It’ll cost yer a hundred dollars fer ther damage you’ve done.”

“Ridiculous,” said Jack, who had been looking at the damaged roof. It was old and moss-grown and had covered one of the oldest buildings on the farm.

The boards of the antiquated structure were split and paintless. Wind and weather must have had their way with it for many years. Jack pointed out these facts to the irate farmer. But he proved recalcitrant.

“I want a hundred dollars fer thet thar roof er you don’t go on,” said he.

“Rubbish. See here, we don’t want to do damage and not settle for it, but that isn’t to say that we can be bled like that. We’re not so foolish. I’ll give you twenty-five dollars for that six feet or so of roof we’ve injured.”

An obstinate look, an expression of fixed stubbornness, came over the farmer’s face.

“I got yer here an’ yer goin’ ter pay my price. Ther justice of ther peace here ain’t friendly to automobuls and sich-like, an’ I reckon ef I say so he’ll give yer all a week in jail as well as a fine. How’d you like that, hey?”

“Threats like that don’t frighten us,” said Jack stoutly, although inwardly he began to feel somewhat worried over the prospects ahead. If the farmer proved as pig-headed as seemed likely it might mean that they would have to pay his outrageous price or else be sent to prison by some cross-grained old justice of the peace.

Of course the boy felt that the farmer’s threat was more or less of a “bluff,” but still he knew from experience the prejudice that a great many people, especially in remote parts of the country, still felt against automobiles and every innovation of that type.

“Don’t scare you, hey?” sneered the farmer. “Wa’al, I cal’kerlate ter put quite a change in yer feelings afore long. Climb down out ‘er that thar sky-buggy an’ look slippy.”

The boys held a hasty consultation. Things began to look bad.

“Maybe we’d better pay the old wooden-head his hundred and be getting on,” said Ned. “We don’t want to be arrested or anything like that.”

“I think that’s all a bluff,” said Jack. “Still, if we humor him it may be better than to fight him.”

“Wa’al, are yer comin’?” demanded the farmer.

“Oh, dry up,” growled out Joyce, unable to contain himself any longer.

“Dry up, hey?” snorted the farmer. “I guess you’ll do the dryin’ yerselves. I wouldn’t take no money now. It’s satisfaction I want. I’ll hev the whole passel of yer up afore the squire in the morning.”

This certainly looked ominous. The man was clearly as stubborn as one of his own oxen, and had made up his mind to be as ugly as he could. Jack wished that Joyce had not made his unfortunate remark and tried to smooth matters over. But it was no use attempting to calm the ruffled feelings of the angry agriculturist.

“Climb out of thar now and be right smart about it,” he snorted. “I’ll show you thet you can’t sass Si Turpin and not suffer for it.”

“But, see here——” began Jack.

“It ain’t no use argyfyin’, young feller. The whole passel of yer goes over to Mill Creek in ther mornin’ I reckin the squire ’ull give you a lesson you won’t fergit.”

“Can’t you be reasonable?” struck in Tom. “We’re on our way to Portstown. It’s important that we hurry up. We’ve got to be there at a certain time.”

“I don’t give a hoop in Hannibal what ye’ve got ter do!” snorted the farmer. “You’ve got to go afore the squire fust. Reckon he’ll soak yer good. He gave a party of automobubblists a good dose last week. I reckon he’ll be all cocked and primed fer you sky-buggy fellers.”

“Well, I guess it’s a case of pile out,” said Jack, with a rueful grin. “This old fellow is as obstinate as a mule. We can only hope to make a good impression on this squire, whoever he is.”

“To judge from his description,” said Tom, “he must be a nice, whole-souled old party.”

“No palaverin’, now. Git right out. I’ll fix you up with quarters in the barn where you won’t git out, and give yer the rogues’ march in the morning.”

There was no help for it. One by one they clambered out, while the hired men stood by with broad grins. They were delivered over to these representatives of the enemy while Farmer Turpin marched grimly behind with his gun.

“Take ’em to the red barn, Reuben,” he ordered, and the boys were presently marched into a large barn partially filled with hay.

“Now I guess ye’ll stay put for a while,” remarked the farmer, with grim humor, as he prepared to close the door.

“You old clod-hopper, for two cents I’d bust that hook nose of yours in,” roared out Joyce angrily.

“That’ll be used agin’ yer at yer trial!” declared the farmer malevolently. “Yes, sir, that’ll be used agin’ yer. Threats of violence, hey? Oh, the squire will fix you fellers good and plenty.”

The doors were banged to and padlocked on the outside. For some time they could hear the farmer pacing up and down as if waiting to see if they would not make some further complaint. But they all remained silent. They were determined not to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he had worried them. Heiny Dill even began to sing to himself.

By and by the steady pacing of the farmer’s feet outside died away.

“I guess he’s gone to eat supper,” said Tom. “My! how hungry I am.”

This reminded all the others of their appetites, too.

“Maybe he’ll send us something to eat,” suggested Ned hopefully.

But his optimism was not to be rewarded. It grew dark and the captives in the barn sat supperless and disconsolate. They did not face a pleasant prospect, supposing the squire to be all that he had been represented by the malevolent old farmer.

How long they sat thus they did not know, but on Jack’s suggestion they were about to find themselves beds in the hay when there came a tapping at the barn door.

“Supper!” cried Tom, but it wasn’t, it was the man called Reuben, or Reuben Rugg, as he announced himself.

“What do you want?” asked Jack.

“Be you fellers goin’ ter Portstown?”

“We were.”

“Well, if a feller let you fellers out would you give a feller a ride to Portstown if a feller wanted ter git thar’?”

“We sure would, Reuben. Who wants to go to Portstown?”

“I’m ther feller that would like ter go with you fellers. I don’t want ter work fer this feller any longer an’ if I got to Portstown I’ve got a feller thar’ thet’s a kind uv er brother-in-law ter me. So if you fellers want ter git out, this feller ’ull steal the key when old Turpin’s asleep and turn you loose.”

“Good for you, Reuben. How long will it be before old Turpin, as you call him, goes to bed?”

“Jes’ as soon as he gets through writing out what he calls a commitment agin’ you fellers. I reckon it ‘ud go hard with you if you was ter be taken afore the squire. He’s a larruper, the squire is. He give me a month once fer takin’ too much red-eye and lickin’ ther constabule.”

“Well, you watch and wait, Reuben,” said Jack; “we’ll be all ready when you are.”

They heard Reuben’s heavy footsteps retreating, and then followed a period that seemed years in extent. But at its termination Reuben’s cautious voice was heard.

“I’m a-goin’ ter open ther door now. Be you fellers ready?”

“We’ve been ready for the last ten years,” declared Tom, referring to the length of time it appeared that Reuben had been gone.

The lock clicked and the doors swung open. One by one they cautiously filed out and tip-toed across the yard to the place where the Electric Monarch lay bulked in dark shadow. Luckily, it was moonlight, and the craft lay in a sixty-acre field so that there was plenty of opportunity to get a good start.

“Old Turpin didn’t monkey at all with the machine, did he, Reuben?” asked Jack, as they crept along. He was not quite sure how far the farmer’s malevolence might have led him.

Reuben gave a suppressed chuckle.

“Turpin touch it? Not him. He wanted to, but the old woman told him thet ef he did as like as not he’d get electric—something or other.”

“Electrocuted?”

“Likely. Say, be you really going ter Portstown?”

“Certainly. You’re not scared, are you?” said Jack with an inward smile.

“Naw, but I got a funny kind ‘er prickly feelin’ down my back like what I git when straw gits down my neck in threshing time,” admitted Reuben with a nervous giggle.