He saw villages where no villages existed that day, and villages meaning more traffic for his railroad, more trade for the stores he had it in his thought to establish.  Something else he saw, but more dimly.  This vision took the shape of a gigantic dam far back in the mountains, behind which should be stored the waters from the melting snows and from the spring rains, so that they might be released at will to insure a uniform flow throughout the year, wet months and dry months, as he desired.  He saw this water pouring over other dams, turning water wheels, giving power to mills and factories.  More than that, in the remotest and dimmest recess of his brain he saw not sharply, not with full comprehension, this tremendous water power converted into electricity and transported mile upon mile over far-reaching wires, to give light and energy to distant communities.

But all that was remote; it lay in the years to come.  For the present smaller affairs must content him.  Even the matter of the narrow-gauge railroad was beyond his grasp.

Scattergood reached down mechanically and removed his huge shoes; then, stretching out his fat legs gratefully, he twiddled his toes in the sunlight and gave himself up to practical thought.  He controlled the tail of the valley with his dam and boom company; he must control its mouth.  He must have command over the exit from the valley so that every individual, every log, every article of merchandise that entered or left the valley, should pass through his hands.  That was to be the next step.  He must straddle the mouth of the valley like the fat colossus he was.

Scattergood was placid and patient.  He knew what he wanted to do with his valley, and had perfect confidence he should accomplish it.  But he had no disposition to hasten matters unwisely.  It was better, as he told Sam Kettleman, the grocer, “to let an apple fall in your lap instead of skinnin’ your shins goin’ up the tree after it—­and then findin’ it was green.”

So, though he wanted the mouth of his river, and wanted it badly, he did not rush off, advertising his need, and try brashly to grab the forty or fifty acres of granite and scrub and steep mountain wall that his heart desired.  Instead, he basked in the sunshine, twiddling his bare toes ecstatically, and let the huge bulk of him sink more contentedly into the well-reinforced armchair which creaked under his slightest motion.

Scattergood glanced across the dusty square to the post office.  The mail was in, and possibly there were letters there for him.  He thought it very likely, and he wanted to see them—­but movement was repulsive to his bulging body.  He sighed and closed his eyes.  A shrill whistle attempting the national anthem, with certain liberties of variation, caused him to open them again, and he saw, passing him, a small boy, apparently without an object in life.

“A-hum!” said Scattergood.

The boy stopped and looked inquiringly.