This evoked another laugh, but neither Wambush nor his companion heeded it.  Westerfelt observed that they turned their backs to the promenaders and seemed to be talking earnestly.

“It’s cool out here,” said Westerfelt’s partner as they were returning from the walk under the arbor of grape-vines.  “They are all goin’ inside.”

At about twelve o’clock the guests began to leave.  Harriet Floyd, followed by Wambush, came in hurriedly after most of the others had gone.  Westerfelt was near Mrs. Bradley when she came to say good-night.  He heard her say she had enjoyed herself very much, but she spoke hurriedly, as if she did not want to be the last to leave.  Westerfelt watched them go through the gate, but he turned away when Wambush put his arm round her waist and lifted her lightly into his buggy.

He was sure he would never like the fellow.

Just before Westerfelt went to bed, Bradley looked into his room.

“I ‘lowed I’d better take a peep at that stove o’ yore’n, an’ see that thar ain’t any danger o’ fire while we are asleep,” he said.  “How’d you make out to-night?”

“First rate.”

“I ‘lowed you wus gittin’ on well enough—­talked to most all the gals, I reckon.”

“All but one, I think—­that Miss Floyd.”

“Ah, Toot’s gal; mortgaged property, I reckon, or soon will be; she’s as purty as red shoes, though, an’ as peert as a cricket.”

Westerfelt sat down on the side of his bed and drew off his boots.

“What sort of a man is he, Luke?”

“Bad—­bad; no wuss in seven States.”

“Fighting man?”

“Yes; an’ whiskey an’ moonshinin’ an’ what not; ain’t but one good p’int in ‘im, an’ that hain’t wuth much in time o’ peace.  I reckon ef yo’re through with it, I’d better take yore candle; sometimes I have to strike a light ’fore day.”

“All right.”  Westerfelt got into the bed and drew the covers up to his chin.  There was a thumping on the floor beneath the house.

“It’s the dogs,” explained Luke, at the door.  “They are a-flirtin’ the’r tails about.  They’ll settle down terrectly.  What time do you want to rise in the mornin’?”

“When you do.  I’m no hand to lie in bed.”

“You’ll have to crawl out with the chickens then.”

“Luke!”

Bradley turned at the door.  “What is it, John?”

“I don’t like Wambush’s looks.”

Bradley laughed, with his hand over his mouth.  “Nobody else does to hurt.”

“Do you think he would trifle with the affections of a young girl?”

“Would he?” Again Bradley laughed.

“Well, I reckon he would; he is a bad man, I tell you.  We’d never ’low him to enter our house, ef we could help it, but he’d raise the very devil ef he was slighted.  We’d never heer the end of it.  Ef we’d left ’im out to-night I’d ‘a’ had ’im to fight out thar in the front yard while the party was goin’ on.  I wouldn’t mind it much, but my wife never wanted me in a row.”