John Bones, lawyer, age twenty-six, was a recent acquisition to Coldriver village.  Scattergood had watched the young man’s comings and goings, and had listened to his conversation.  Early in November he went to his bank and drew from deposit two hundred and fifty dollars....  Then he went to call on Bones.

“Mr. Bones,” he said, “folks says old Clayt Mosier’s a client of your’n.”

“He’s given me some business, Mr. Baines.”

“Uh-huh!...  Somethin’ to do with title to a piece of timber over Higgins’s Bridge way, wa’n’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Baines, but I guess you’ll have to ask Mr. Mosier about that.”

“Huh!...  Mosier hain’t apt to tell me.  Seems like I was sort of int’rested in that thing.  I can’t manage nohow to git the facts, so I thought I’d talk to you.”

“I can’t help you.  I have no right to talk about a client’s confidential matters.”

“To be sure....  How’s business?”

“Not very good.”

“Not gittin’ rich, eh?”

Young Bones looked unhappy, for making both ends meet was a problem he had not mastered as yet.

Scattergood got up, closed the door, and walked softly back to the desk.  He drew from his pocket the roll of bills, and spread them out in alluring pattern.

“Them’s your’n,” said he.

“Mine?  How?  What for?”

“I’m swappin’ with you.”

“For what, Mr. Baines?” A slight perspiration was noticeable on young Lawyer Bones’s brow.

“Information,” said Scattergood, looking him in the eye.  As the young man did not speak, Scattergood continued, “about Mosier’s title matter.”

For an instant the young man stood irresolute; then he reached slowly over, gathered up the money into a neat roll—­while Scattergood watched him intently—­and then, with suddenly set teeth, hurled the roll into Scattergood’s face, and leaped around the desk.

“You git!” he said, between his teeth.  “Git, and take your filthy money with you....”

Scattergood, who did not in the least look it, could move swiftly.  The young lawyer was abruptly interrupted in his pastime of ejecting Scattergood forcibly.  He found himself seized by his wrists and held as if he had shoved his arms into steel clamps.

“Set,” said Scattergood, “and be sociable....  And keep the money.  It’s your’n.  You’re hired.  I guess you’re the feller I’m aimin’ to use.”

He forced the struggling young man back into his chair, and released him—­grinning broadly, and not at all as a tempter should grin.  “If it’ll relieve your conscience,” he said, “I hain’t got no more int’rest in Mosier’s affairs than I have in the emperor of the heathen Chinee....  But I have got a heap of int’rest in a young feller that kin refuse a wad of money when he can’t pay his board bill.  Maybe ’twan’t jest a nice way, but I had to find out.  The man I’m needin’ has to have a clost mouth—­and somethin’ a mite better ’n that—­gumption not to sell out....  Git the idee?”