well?"

"Do you mean, Mr. Hardy?" the stranger asked, and the Georgian replied.
"In course, but I allus calls him Tom. Have known him since he wore
gowns. My plantation jines old man Hardy's."

There was no doubt, now, that the stranger was interested, and had his
companion been a close observer he would have seen the kindling light in
his eyes, and the spots of red beginning to show on his face. Whether to
talk or not was a question in his mind. Cowardice prompted him to remain
silent, and something which defied silence prompted him at last to
talk.

"I was with Mr. Thomas Hardy in college," he said, "and I have visited
him in his home. He is my best friend."

"To-be-sure!" the Georgian said, hitching nearer to the stranger, as if
there was a bond of relationship between them.

The man had given no inkling of the date of his visit, and as it was
some years since Tom was graduated the Georgian did not dream of
associating the visit with a few weeks before, when he had heard that a
high buck was at old man Hardy's and with Tom was painting the
neighborhood red and scandalizing some of the more sober citizens with
his excesses. This quiet stranger with the proud face and hard eyes
never helped paint anything. It was somebody else, whose name he had
forgotten, but of whom he went on to speak in not very complimentary
terms.

"A high buck, I never happened to see squar in the face," he said. "Had