"I—-I don't believe I can come over to-day," Fred answered hesitatingly.
"The weather is too hot."
"Mebbe the weather will get hotter, if you don't come," Hiram
Driggs responded calmly.
"That's a joke, eh?" queried Fred. "Ha, ha, ha!"
"Depends upon the feller's sense of humor," Driggs declared.
"Well, you're coming over, aren't you?"
"Ye-es, I'll come," Fred assented falteringly, for his guilty conscience made a coward of him. "You're a fine fellow, Mr. Driggs, and I'm glad to oblige anyone like you. I'll be right over."
"Thanks, ever so much, for the compliment," drawled Driggs in his most genial tone. "Such a compliment is especially appreciated when it comes from a young gentleman of your stripe. Good-bye."
That word "stripe" caused Fred Ripley to have a disagreeable chill. He remembered that "stripes" are an important part of the design on a convict's suit of state-furnished clothes.
"But he needn't think he can prove anything against me," Fred muttered to himself, as he started down the street. "Of course, I know I lost that chisel last night, and Driggs may have found it in his boatyard. But he can't prove that the chisel belongs to me, or to our house. There are lots more chisels just like that one. If Driggs tries to bluff me he'll find that I'm altogether too cool for him!"
Nevertheless, it was an anxious young man who walked into the boat builder's office a few minutes later. Hiram Driggs, smiling broadly, held out his hand, which Fred took.
"Sorry I wasn't here when you called last night," said Driggs affably.