"Yes, night don't seem to make any difference to him," admitted the lighthouse-keeper. "He's a mighty queer man."
"What's his name?" asked Frank, binding a bit of his handkerchief about his crab-bitten toe, while he and the other boys sat in the warm sun on the dock, letting their clothes dry.
"Watson—Professor Watson he calls himself," said Mr. Floyd. "No one seems to know much about him. He doesn't mix with us folks much—lives all alone in that cabin."
"Do you really think he might be looking for the pirate gold?" asked Sammy eagerly.
"Well, he might be," admitted Mr. Floyd. "Lots of wiser folks, and some more foolish than he seems to be, have dug for it—but never found it. He might have the craze, too. But I wouldn't advise you boys to bother him too much."
"Is he dangerous?" asked Bob.
"No, I wouldn't go so far as to say that," replied the light-keeper, slowly. "But you know you have no right to go on his land, and he might have you arrested."
"Did he ever have anyone taken in?" Frank wanted to know.
"No, but he sued Nate Hardon, his next door neighbor, because Nate's dog dug up the garden. And the funny thing of it was that the professor didn't have anything planted in that garden, as far as any of us could find out. He just got provoked because Nate's dog dug some holes, and he sued Nate. He won his case, too, and got six cents damage."
"Six cents! Is that all?" asked Sammy, in surprise.