“Quite so,” said the professor. “The judge is entirely incapable of doing such a thing, bitter as some of his prejudices are. It need not be denied that he was prejudiced against you at first. One evening, when he was driving with his daughter, he visited your drilling plant and was greatly incensed at finding it in the old Westwood slave burying-ground. But now you and Mr. Carfax have met him and have eaten at his table, and this, to a man of his characteristics, salves all wounds. Besides, as a matter of fact, you owe the help which enabled you to place your new power-plant directly to the judge. It was he who sent word to the mountain-folk to turn out with their teams.”
“You surprise me!” said Tregarvon. “How did he know?”
Hartridge smiled amiably. “You are not wholly in Mr. Carfax’s confidence, it would seem. On the evening when you had the trouble with the valley farmers, he and Miss Richardia drove over to Westwood House in your car while we waited dinner for them here at the school. And the next morning, presto! you had your help.”
“You are guessing at this?”
“Not wholly. I have just been to the ‘Pocket’ to see Sill McNabb’s little daughter, who is sick—doctoring people being another of my small recreations. When I pressed him, Sill told me that the order to help you came from Judge Birrell, and that it was put upon the score of common neighborliness.”
“But the idea of helping me originated with the judge’s daughter,” Tregarvon put in soberly. “Why should she wish to return good for evil, Professor Hartridge?”
This time Hartridge’s smile was less amiable.
“Miss Richardia’s motives are not to be questioned by either of us, Mr. Tregarvon. But why should you call her interest in your affair returning good for evil?”
Tregarvon fought away from the edge of the pit into which his incorrigible ingenuousness was about to precipitate him.
“Oh, there isn’t any reason why she should consider me. Within the past hour I have had the best possible proof of that.”