“No.”

“Honest Injun.”

“How much?”

“From what he said it’s more than ten thousand dollars.”

“Lead me to him.”

“He’ll need some playing with—­thinks he’s sharp....  But I’ve been talking to him.  Guess he took a liking to me.  Wanted to take me to dinner—­and he did.”

“Say!” exclaimed Mr. Peaney, in admiration, “I had you sized all wrong.”

“It’ll take nerve,” Pansy said.

“It’s what I’ve got most of.”

“He’s no Ovid Nixon.”

“Eh?...  What d’you know about Ovid Nixon?”

“I know he was too green to burn and that you and he were together a lot....  Isn’t that enough?”

He smiled complacently, seeing a compliment.  “He was easy—­but he got to be a nuisance.”

“Making trouble?”

“No....  Scared.”

“I see,” she nodded, wisely.  “Lost more than he had, was that it?  And then helped himself to what he didn’t have?”

“I’m not supposed to know where it came from.  None of my business.”

“Of course not”—­her tone was rank flattery.  “Wants you to take care of him.  Threatens to squeal.  I know....  So you’ve got to hide him out.”

“You are a wise one.  Where’d you get it?”

“I didn’t always sell cigars for a living....  He isn’t apt to break loose and spoil this thing, is he?”

“Too scared to show his face....  If we can pull this across he can show it whenever he wants to—­I’ll be gone.”

So Ovid Nixon was here—­in town.  It was as she had reasoned.  If here, he was somewhere in the building Mr. Peaney occupied as a bucket shop.

“It’s understood we divide—­if I introduce my farmer to you—­and show you how to get it.”

“You bet, sister.”

“Have you any money?  Nothing makes people so confident and trustful as the sight of money?”

“I’ve got it,” he said, complacently.

“Then you come to the hotel this evening....  Just do as I say.  I’ll manage it.  In a couple of days—­if you have the nerve and do exactly what I say—­you can forget Ovid Nixon and take a long journey.”

Two hours later, when Peaney entered the lobby of the Mountain House, he saw a very fat, uncouthly dressed backwoodsman talking to Pansy.  She signaled him and he walked over nonchalantly.

“Mr. Baines,” said Pansy, “here’s the gentleman I was speaking about.  He can advise you.  He’s a broker, and everybody trusts him.”  She lowered her voice.  “He’s very rich, himself.  Made it in stocks.  I guess he knows what’s going on right in Mr. Rockefeller’s private office....  You couldn’t do better than to talk business with him....  Mr. Peaney, Mr. Baines.”

“Very glad to meet you, sir,” said Peaney, in his grandest manner.

“Much obleeged, and the same to you,” said Scattergood, beaming his admiration.  “Hear tell you’re one of them stock brokers.”