“I don’t know what to do, Mr. Baines.”

“Didn’t figger on droppin’ around to Grandma Penny’s boardin’ house about eight sharp, did you?  Eight sharp....  And kind of settin’ down quiet on the front porch?  Jest settin’?  Eh?...  G’-by, Bob.”

After Bob left the store Scattergood sat half an hour staring at the stove; then he left the store to its own devices and wandered up the street toward Grandmother Penny’s.  He encountered Sarah Pound as she came out through the gate.

“Howdy, Sairy?” he said, cheerfully.  “Havin’ consid’able amusement with life—­eh?”

“I’ve been enjoying myself, Mr. Baines,” Sarah said, making an effort at coldness and dignity.

“Bet you hain’t enjoyin’ yourself enough to warrant your doin’ a favor for an old feller like me, eh?...  This evenin’, for instance?”

“I—­I’m going away this evening.”

“Um!...  Goin’ away, eh?  Alone?  Or along with somebody?”

“That’s my own affair.”

“To be sure....  To be sure, but the train don’t leave till nine, does it?  Couldn’t manage to do me a favor at eight?”

“What is the favor, Mr. Baines?”

“‘Tain’t much.  Sca’cely anythin’ a-tall.  I calc’late to be a-settin’ in Grandma Penny’s parlor at eight sharp.  I won’t keep you waitin’ more ’n a second—­unless somebody happens to be with me a-talkin’ my arm off.  If they hain’t nobody with me, why, you walk right in.  If they is somebody, why, you jest stand outside of the door a second, and they’ll be gone.  Then you come in.  But don’t come rompin’ in if you hear voices.  It’s a mite of business, and ’twon’t take but a second.  Calc’late you kin manage that, eh?”

“Yes,” she said, shortly.

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“G’-by, Sairy.”

At five minutes before eight Scattergood Baines rapped at Grandmother Penny’s door and asked to speak to Farley Curtis, “Tell him it’s somethin’ p’tic’lar reegardin’ the Beatty estate,” he said, and stepped into the parlor.  Farley appeared almost instantly; dapper, his usual courteous, self-possessed self.  Scattergood began a peculiar and roundabout conversation after the manner of a man who fears to broach a subject plainly.  Farley showed his irritation.

“Mr. Baines,” he said, “suppose you get down to business.  I’m going away this evening.”

“To be sure....  To be sure.  It’s overlappin’ eight now, hain’t it?” Scattergood paused, listening.  He fancied he heard some one approach and halt just outside the door.  He was certain that a chair creaked on the porch outside the window....  He cleared his throat and drew a big yellow envelope from his pocket.

“Calculate I’m ready for business, if you be....  Which d’you calc’late is most desirable—­havin’ half a loaf, or no bread?”

“What do you mean?”

“You come to Coldriver on business, didn’t you?  Money business?”

“Why I came is my own affair.”