Scattergood Baines Part 49

Scattergood said nothing. It was a fixed principle of his to let other folks do the talking if they would. If not he talked himself--deviously.

Seldom did he ask a direct question regarding any matter of importance, and so strong was habit that it was rare for him to put any query directly. If he wanted to know what time it was he would lead up to the subject by mentioning sun dials, or calendars, or lunar eclipses, and so approach circuitously and by degrees, until his victim was led to exhibit his watch. Pansy did not talk.

"See lots of folks, standin' back of that counter like you do?" he began.

"Lots."

"Um!... From lots of towns?... From Boston?"

"Yes."

"From Tupper Falls?"

"Some."

"From Coldriver?"

"If you want to know if I know Ovid Nixon, why don't you ask right out?"

Scattergood looked at her admiringly.

"I know him," she said.

"Like him?"

"He's a nice boy." Scattergood liked the way she said "nice." It conveyed a fine shade of meaning, and he thought more of Ovid in consequence. "But he's awful young--and green."

"Calc'late he is--calc'late he is."

"He needs somebody to look after him," she said, sharply.

"Thinkin' of undertakin' the work?... Favor undertakin' it?"

She looked at him a moment speculatively. "I might do worse. He'd be decent and kind--and I've got brains. I could make something of him...."

"Um!... Ovid's up and made somethin' of himself."

"What?" She spoke quickly, sharply.

"A thief."

Scattergood glanced sidewise to study the effect of this curt announcement, but her face was expressionless, rather too expressionless.

"That's why you're looking for him?"

"Yes."

"To put him in jail?"

"What would _you_ calc'late on doin' if you was me?"

"Before I did anything," she said, slowly, "I'd make up my mind if he was a thief, or if he just happened to take whatever it was he has taken.... I'd be sure he was _bad_. If I made up my mind he'd just been green and a fool--well, I'd see to it he never was that kind of a fool again.... But not by jailing him."

"Um!... Three thousand's a lot of money."

"Mr. Baines, I see men and other kinds of men from behind my cigar counter--and the kind of a man Ovid Nixon _could_ be is worth more than that."

"Mebby so.... Mebby so. But if I was investin' in Ovid, I'd want some sort of a guarantee with him. Would you be willin' to furnish the guarantee? And see it was kept good?"

"If you mean what I think you do--yes," she said, steadily. "I'd marry Ovid to-morrow."

"Him bein' a thief?"

"Girls that sell cigars aren't so select," she said, a trifle bitterly.

"Pansy," said Scattergood, and he patted her back with a heavy hand that was, nevertheless, gentle, "if 'twan't for Mandy, that I've up and married already, I calc'late I'd try to cut Ovid out.... But then I've kinder observed that every woman you meet up with, if she's bein'

crowded by somethin' hard and mean, strikes you as bein' better 'n any other woman you ever see. I call to mind a number.... Ovid some attached to you, is he?"

"He's never made love to me, if that's what you mean."

"Think you could land him--for his good and yourn?"

"I--why, I think I could," she said.

"Is it a bargain?"

"What?"

"For, and in consideration of one dollar to you in hand paid, and the further consideration of you undertakin' to keep an eye on him till death do you part, I agree to keep him out of jail--and without n.o.body knowin' he was ever anythin' but honest--and a dum fool."

She held out her hand and Scattergood took it.

"What's got Ovid into this here mess?"

"Bucket shop," she said.

"Um!... They been lettin' him make a mite of money--up to now, eh? So he calc'lated on gittin' rich at one wallop. Kind of led him along, I calc'late, till they got him to swaller hook, line, and sinker ... and then they up and jerked him floppin' on to the bank.... Who owns this here bucket shop?"

"Tim Peaney."

"Perty slick, is he?"

"Slick enough to take care of Ovid and sheep like him--but I can't help thinking he's a sheep himself."

"He got Ovid's three thousand, or Ovid 'u'd 'a' come back Sunday night.... Got to find Ovid--and got to git that money back."

"I've an idea Ovid's right in town. If you're suspicious, and keep your eyes open, you can tell when something's going on. That Pillows man you scared knows, and Peaney acts like the man of mystery in one of the kind of plays we get around here. It's breaking out all over them.... I'll bet they've fleeced Ovid, and now they're hiding him--to save themselves more than him."

"And Ovid's the kind that would let himself be hid," said Scattergood.

"Do you and me work together on this job?"