Anson was grinning as he came up. "Kind'a weak on the pins, eh?" he greeted, "Ma told me I was to come across here an' see you didn't get into no mischief."
Maurice wanted to knock that grin off Anson's sneering mouth, but he was in no condition to do it. Besides it was a moment for diplomacy. "Everybody seems to think I want'a fall in a well an' get drowned, er somethin'," he grumbled. "Why do I need watchin', I'd like to know?"
Anson chuckled, "Well, you ain't goin' to get no chance to do any funny stunts this afternoon," he promised. "I'm here to keep an eye on you."
"Which one?" Maurice asked sarcastically. "The good one er the blacked one?"
Anson's face reddened. "You needn't get funny!" he cried, angrily. "Any feller's liable to black an eye runnin' agin a tree, in the dark."
"Or a fist in the daylight," grinned Maurice. "Well, never mind, Anse," he said consolingly, "you've got one good eye left, but somethin' tells me you won't have it long."
"What you mean?" asked Anson suspiciously.
"Why, I've got a hunch that somebody's layin' for you, that's all," answered Maurice. "'Course, I may be wrong. Am I?"
Anson squatted down beside Maurice. "No, by gosh! you're not so far wrong," he admitted, ruefully. "Somebody is layin' fer me, an' layin' fer me right. It's Bill. Say, Maurice, won't you try an' get him to let me off this time. If you will I won't ferget it in a hurry."
Maurice stood up. "Where's Bill now?" he asked.