“Meddling with the railroads is a dangerous pastime,” said Johnnie.  “Besides, how can you manage it?”

“We got a legislature, hain’t we?”

“Yes, but the boys feel pretty friendly to the railroads, I understand.”

“Feel perty friendly to me, too,” said Scattergood.

“I doubt if you could pass any legislation they wanted to fight hard.”

“Um!...  I’ll look out for that end, Johnnie.  Now what I want is for you to draw up a bill for me that’ll sort of irritate ’em where irritation does the most hurt—­which, I calc’late, is in the pocketbook.  Here’s my notion:  To make a pop’lar measure of it; somethin’ that’ll appeal to the folks.  We kin git the papers to start a holler and have folks demandin’ action of their representatives, and sich like.  Taxes!  That’ll fetch ’em every time.”

“Yes,” said Johnnie, dubiously, “but—­”

“You listen” said Scattergood.  “It stands to reason that the state don’t realize much out of that there forty mile of track.  The G. and B. gits the use of the state, so to speak, without payin’ a fair rent for it.  You draw up a bill pervidin’ that the railroad has got to pay a fee of, say a dollar, for every passenger car it runs over them forty miles, and fifty cents for every freight car.  That’ll mount to a consid’able sum every year, eh?”

“It’ll amount to so much,” said Johnnie, gazing ruefully at his client, “that there’ll be the devil to pay.  You’ll pull every railroad in the state down around your ears.”

“Let ’em drop.”

“And I don’t know if the law’ll hold water—­even if you got it passed.  It’s darn-fool legislation, Mr. Baines—­but some darn-fool legislation sticks.  I don’t believe this would, but it might.”

“That’s plenty to suit me,” said Scattergood, slipping on his shoes and standing up.  “You git at it....  And say,” he said, as a sort of afterthought, “I want to git through a leetle bill for my stage line.  Here’s about it.  Won’t take more’n fifty words.”  He handed Johnnie a slip, crumpled and grimy, with lead-pencil notes on.  “This won’t cause no trouble, anyhow.”

Scattergood went back to his hardware store and sat down in his reinforced armchair on the piazza.  As he sat there young Jim Hands drove up with his girl, alighted, and went into the ice-cream parlor for refreshment.  Scattergood studied the rig.  It lacked something to give it the final touch of style dear to the country youth.

Scattergood got up, and ambled into his store, returning with a resplendent buggy whip—­one with a white silk bow tied above its handle.  This he placed in the socket on the dashboard.  Then he resumed his chair.  Presently Jim emerged with his girl and helped her into the rig.  He noticed the whip, took it out of its place, and examined it; swished it through the air to try its excellence.

“Mighty nice gad,” said Scattergood.

“Where in tunket did it come from?” asked Jim.