Old Man Penny and Locker and the rest of the merchants were far from oblivious to Scattergood’s movements.  No sooner had his sign appeared than every merchant in town—­excepting Junkin, the druggist, who sold wall paper and farm machinery as side lines—­went into executive session in the back room of Locker’s store.

“He means business,” said Locker.

“Leased that store for five year,” said Old Man Penny.

“Cash, and Cut Prices,” quoted Atwell, “and you fellers know our folks would pass by their own brothers to save a penny.  He’ll force us to cut, too.”

“Me—­I won’t do it,” asserted Kettleman.

“Then you’ll eat your stock,” growled Locker.

“Fellers,” said Atwell, “if this man gits started it’s goin’ to cost all of us money.  He’ll draw some trade, even if he don’t cut prices.  Safe to figger he’ll git a sixth of it.  And a sixth of the business in this region is a pretty fair livin’.  If he goes slashin’ right and left, nobody kin tell how much trade he’ll draw.”

“We should ‘a’ leased that store between us.  Then nobody could ‘a’ come in.”

“But we didn’t.  And it’s goin’ to cost us money.  If he puts in clothing it’ll cost me five hundred dollars a year in profits, anyhow.  Maybe more.  And you other fellers clost to as much.”

“But we can’t do nothin’.”

“We can buy him off,” said Atwell.

The meeting at that moment became noisy.  Epithets were applied with freedom to Scattergood, and even to Atwell, for these were not men who loved to part with their money.  However, Atwell showed them the economy of it.  It was either for them to suffer one sharp pang now, or to endure a greater dragging misery.  They went in a body to call upon Scattergood.

“Howdy, neighbors!” Scattergood said, genially.

“We’re the merchants of this town,” said Old Man Penny, shortly.

“So I judged,” said Scattergood.

“There’s merchants enough here,” the old man roared on.  “Too many.  We don’t want any more.  We don’t want you should start up any business here.”

“You’re too late.  It’s started.  I’ve leased these premises.”

“But you hain’t no stock in.”

“I calc’late on havin’ one shortly,” said Scattergood, with a twinkle in his eye, whose meaning was kindly concealed from the five.

“What’ll you take not to order any stock?” asked Atwell, abruptly.

“Figger on buyin’ me off, eh?  Now, neighbors, I’ve been lookin’ for a place like this, and I calc’late on stayin’.  I’m goin’ to become all-fired permanent here.”

“Give you a hundred dollars,” said Old Man Penny.

“Apiece?” asked Scattergood, and laughed jovially.  “It’s my busy day, neighbors.  Better call in again.”

“What’s your figger to pull out now—­’fore you’re started?”

“Hain’t got no figger, but if I had I calc’late it would be about a thousand dollars.”