“Certain....  Certain....  But things gets noised about.  Things has got noised about concernin’ a paper that stands betwixt you and half of the Beatty estate.  Heard ’em myself.”  Scattergood waggled the envelope.  “I hain’t exactly objectin’ to makin’ a leetle quick money myself—­supposin’ it kin be done safe, and the blame, if they is any, throwed somewheres else....  Now, Mr. Curtis, what kind of a course would you foller if that paper we been talkin’ about was to fall into the hands of a feller that felt like I do about makin’ money?”

“What do you mean?” Farley demanded, moving forward eagerly in his chair.

“Hain’t good at guessin’, be you?”

“That paper doesn’t worry me,” said Farley.  “Calc’lated on havin’ it before you took the train to-night, eh?”

Farley scowled.

“Uh-huh!...  Wa-al, I wasn’t seein’ sich a chance to make a dollar slip by.  The way you was figgerin’ on gittin’ that paper, Mr. Curtis, won’t work.  I know.  Uh-huh!  I know, because I got ahead of you.  I got that paper myself....  And we kin deal if I kin be made to feel safe....  Most things leaks out through wimmin....  Hain’t mixin’ any wimmin into this, be you?”

“No.”

“Um!...  How about Sairy Pound?”

Curtis shrugged his shoulders.

“Calc’latin’ on takin’ her away with you to-night?”

“Not now,” said Farley.

“Seein’s how you can’t use her to git this paper for you, eh?  That it?”

“Yes.”

“Calc’lated on marryin’ her, didn’t you?”

“Fiddlesticks!” said Mr. Curtis, harshly.

“Understand me, I hain’t takin’ chances....  If this gal’s mixed up in this, I don’t deal.”

“Do I look like a man who would let a silly, backwoods idiot of a girl stand between me and money?  I’m through with her.  She’s no use to me now.  You’ve said that yourself....  She’s nothing to me.”

“Good....  I got the paper right here, and I’m a-listenin’ to your offer for it....”

“Ten thous—­” began Farley, but a swift, furious thrusting open of the parlor door interrupted, as Sarah Pound flung herself into the room.  For a moment she was speechless with rage....  Shame would come later....  “You contemptible—­contemptible—­contemptible—­” she cried, breathlessly.  “It was a thing like you I—­I could choose!...  I could throw away a man for you!...  For a suit of clothes, and manners, and a lying tongue....  I could compare Bob Allen with you—­and choose you!...  Oh!...”

“Sairy,” said Scattergood.

“But I never would have done it—­not that.  I’d never have taken that paper....  You know I wouldn’t, Mr. Baines.  Say you know that....”

“Wa-al,” said Scattergood, dryly, “they hain’t no tellin’ how fur a woman’ll go when she’s bein’ bamboozled by a scamp—­so I kind of insured ag’in’ your takin’ it by takin’ it myself....  Er—­Mr. Curtis, if I was you, I’d sort of slip out soft by the back door.  Bob Allen’s a-waitin’ for you on the front porch....  There’s a train at nine.”