the money-lender's son mutter. "Salt in the cream and salt in the layer cakes will do the trick! Some of the boys and girls will think they are poisoned!"
Nat took up a bag of salt that was handy,—used for making the cream, and—proceeded to open the can in the freezer. Dave watched him as a cat does a mouse.
Just as Nat was on the point of dumping some of the salt into the ice-cream he felt himself jerked backwards. The salt dropped to the floor, and Nat found himself confronting Dave, with Phil but a few steps away.
"You contemptible rascal!" cried Dave, his eyes flashing.
"Why—I—er" stammered the moneylender's son. He did not know what to say.
"Going to spoil the cream, eh?" came from Phil. "It was a mighty dirty trick, Nat."
"On a level with what you did to Professor Potts," added Dave.
"I—er—I wasn't going to do nothing!" cried Nat, with little regard for grammar. "I—er—I was looking at the ice-cream, that's all."
"A poor excuse is worse than none," answered Dave, grimly. "You were going to put salt in the cream and spoil it, you needn't deny it."
"See here, Dave Porter, I want you to understand"
