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?”

“If I can help—­”

“You bet you kin....  We’ll jest let Ovid lie hid while we kind of maneuver around Peaney some—­commencin’ right soon.  Peaney ever aspire to take you to dinner?”

“Yes,” she said, shortly.

“Git organized to go with him to-night....”

* * * * *

It was in the neighborhood of five o’clock when Mr. Peaney came into the Mountain House and stopped at the cigar counter for cigarettes.

“Any more friendly to-day, sister?” he asked.

Pansy smiled and leaned across the case.  “The trouble with you,” she said, in a low tone, “is that you’re a piker.”

“Piker—­me?”

“Always after small change.”

“Just show me some real money once,” he said, flamboyantly.

“It would scare you,” she said.

“Show me some—­you’d see how it would scare me.”

“I wonder,” she said, musingly, “if you have the nerve?”

“For what?” he said, with quickened interest.

“To go after a wad that I know of?”

“Say,” he said, his eyes narrowing, his face assuming a look of cupidity and cunning, “do you know something?  If you do, come on out where we can eat and talk.  If there’s anything in it I’ll split with you.”

“I know you will,” she said, promptly.  “Fifty-fifty....  In an hour, at Case’s restaurant.”

At the hour set Pansy and Mr. Peaney found a corner table in the little restaurant, and when they had ordered Peaney asked, “Well, what you got on your mind?”

“A big farmer from the backwoods—­with a trunkful of money.  Don’t know how he got it.  Must have sold the family wood lot, but he’s got it with him ... and he came down to invest it.”