“All right, then. That's all I wanted to say.” Hoag turned to the door. He stood there for a moment, then slowly faced Paul again. “There is one other thing,” he said, half-sheepishly. “I got onto the fact that you went on Henry's note at the bank to git the money for 'im to go into that business on, an' I thought I'd tell you that I don't intend to let you lose it. Good business men think Henry is goin' to make money thar. In fact, I think myself that he may stick to it. I was in his store to-day an' his partner is well pleased with the work Henry is doin'. I expect to pay that note off, but I'll let 'im owe the bank a while. That will be best, I think.” And with that Hoag turned and went down the stairs. CHAPTER XX |A FEW days later Hoag was walking home from his cotton-gin. It was near noon. It had been cool and cloudy all the morning, and the humid air was laden with a hovering mist which at every moment seemed about to resolve itself into rain. Suddenly, in a thicket at the side of the road, he saw a man with his back toward him. The gaunt form resembled Sid Trawley's, yet the queer antics of the hatless figure belied such an association, for it was bending down and rising up with inexplicable regularity. Hoag paused and watched in growing wonder. It was plain that the man's contortions were not due to the lifting of any tool, for every few seconds a pair of bare, splaying hands would rise above the head, clutch at the air, and slowly descend. “What the hell ails 'im?” Hoag asked himself, and turning into the thicket he approached the animated automaton. It was Trawley. On seeing Hoag he flushed deeply, dropped his gaze awkwardly to the ground, and stood silent, though smiling in a sheepish way. “Look here, are you gone plumb distracted?” Hoag demanded, as he stood eying his old associate from head to foot. “I reckon you might call it that,” Trawley answered, raising his arms above his head and inhaling a deep breath. “A heap o' things look plumb foolish if you ain't onto the scientific explanation.” “Well,” Hoag tittered, “I can't see no sense in a big strappin' feller like you actin' like a jumpin'-jack pullin' it's own string away out here in the woods all by yourself.” Trawley threw back his broad shoulders, took a shorter breath, and answered: “I railly didn't intend to be seen, Jim, much less by you, who never would believe nothin' outside o' your own hide. I've been doin' this thing for a month or more.” “You say you have!” Hoag exhibited one of his rare tendencies toward a smile. “I see whar you've pawed up the grass considerable. It looks like the ground round the hitchin'-post of a prize stallion.” “I reckon I _have_ come here as much as anywhar else.” The liveryman comically surveyed the spot in question. “I git the walk out, an' I like to operate in the same spot. I can time myself, you see. I give a' hour to it twice a day--momin' an evenin'.”