Not until the young people had passed through the grove and emerged into the interval beyond did Paisley step out from his hiding-place. Then he looked toward the sinking moon and sighed.
“She’s not for the likes of you, Bill,” he murmured as he turned to the path again.
Tommy stood before him.
“Bill,” he said excitedly, “I want to tell you somethin’. I’ve got to tell you, Bill, or I’ll bust.”
“Why, Tommy,” said Bill, “thought you’d gone to bed.”
“No, I slipped out and follered you, but I saw them comin’ too, and I ducked same as you did. Say, Bill, you don’t think much of Mr. Simpson, do you?”
Paisley laughed queerly.
“Well, Tommy, and what if I don’t?”
“Well, I overheard him and that Watson man plannin’ some things together the other day. I thought I wouldn’t tell anybody, but I can’t keep it any longer.”
He stood on tiptoe and whispered something in the man’s ear. Paisley gripped the lad’s arm.