“I was going to say that the arrest of Morgan McNabb, just at this critical turn in the tide of affairs, might make it embarrassing for the judge; only you wouldn’t let me finish,” said Carfax, with great meekness. “You are going to call on him?” demanded Tregarvon. “Since he is Richardia’s father, I don’t see how I can well avoid it. To-morrow--or, I should say, to-day--is Friday, and I thought I’d ask Richardia to let me drive her over to Westwood House--if you’ll lend me the motor-wagon after Rucker gets back.” Tregarvon rose and stood half-menacingly over the friend of his youth. “If I thought you were only playing with her,” he grated; but instead of saying what he would do in that case, he turned abruptly and went into the tool-house to fling himself down upon the cot, leaving Carfax to continue the night-watch or to abandon it, as he might choose. XVI A Friend at Need With the object-lessons of the night of visitations to emphasize the need for vigilance, the two young men, discussing the situation in the gray dawn, agreed that the drilling plant must not be left unguarded during the Friday of enforced idleness, or at any other time. Accordingly, soon after sunrise, Carfax set out to walk down the mountain for the purpose of sending Tryon and a man or two of the track gang up to relieve Tregarvon. This arrangement left the owner of the Ocoee to do sentry duty alone until Tryon should come--a duty which he scamped ingloriously by sitting upon the door-step of the tool-shack and promptly falling asleep. It was a brusque “Hello!” that awakened him, and he sprang up with a start to find a round-faced, pursy little man in pepper-and-salt garmentings and mouse-colored driving-gloves standing before him. A horse and buggy motionless in the edge of the glade accounted for the manner of the visitor’s coming, but not for its object. Tregarvon took a good look at the stranger before he committed himself, even to a greeting. The round face, with its twinkling eyes, double chin, and the little patches of closely cropped side-whisker, was altogether reassuring; it not only beamed good-nature, it fairly shone with an irresistible kindliness. Tregarvon, gathering his scattered wits as he could, said: “Good morning; it’s a fine morning for a drive through the woods.” The little man added another layer of geniality to his smile. “It’s a fine morning, also, for a nap in the sunshine,” he reciprocated. “Do you belong to the out-of-door sleepers--the ‘simple-lifers’--Mr. Tregarvon?” “Not permanently,” laughed Tregarvon; “though I must confess that I am so simple as not to be able to recall your name.”