On the train Scattergood turned over a seat to have a resting place for his feet, took off his shoes, displaying white woolen socks, a refinement forced upon him by Mandy, and leaned back to doze and speculate.  When Mandy thought him safely asleep she covered his feet with a paper, to conceal from the public view this evidence of a character not overgiven to refinements.  It is characteristic of Scattergood that, though wide awake, he gave no sign of knowledge of Mandy’s act.  Scattergood was thinking, and to think, with him, meant so to unfetter his feet that he could wriggle his toes pleasurably.

Johnnie Bones was waiting for Scattergood at the station.

“Johnnie,” said Scattergood, “did you sell that kitchen range to Sam Kettleman?”

“Almost, Mr. Baines, almost.  But when it came to unwrapping the weasel skin and laying money on the counter, Sam guessed Mrs. Kettleman could keep on cooking a spell with what she had.”

“Johnnie,” said Scattergood, “you’re dum near perfect; but you got your shortcomings.  Hardware’s one of ’em....  What about that telegram of yourn?”

“Yes,” said Mandy.

“Mr. Castle, president of the G. and B.—­”

“I know what job he’s holdin’ down, Johnnie.”

“—­came to see you yesterday.  I wouldn’t tell him where you were, so he had to tell me what he wanted.  He wants to buy your railroad.  Said to have you wire him right off.”

“Um!...”  Scattergood walked deliberately, with heavy-footed stride, to the telegraph operator, and wrote a brief but eminently characteristic message.  “I might,” the telegram said to President Castle.

“Now, folks,” he said, “we’ll go up to the store and sort of figger on what Castle’s got in mind.”

They sat down on the veranda, under the wooden awning, and Scattergood’s specially reinforced chair creaked under his great weight as he stooped to remove his shoes.  For a moment he wriggled his toes, just as a golfer waggles his driver preparatory to the stroke.  “Um!...” he said.

“Castle,” said he, presently, “works for jest two objects—­makin’ money and payin’ off grudges.  Most gen’ally he tries to figger so’s to combine ’em.”

Johnnie and Mandy waited.  They knew better than to interrupt Scattergood’s train of thought.  Had they done so he would have uttered no rebuke, but would have hoisted himself out of his chair and would have waddled away up the dusty street, and neither of them would ever hear another word of the matter.

“He knows I wouldn’t sell this road without gittin’ money for it. Therefore he’s figgerin’ on makin’ a lot of money out of it, or payin’ off a doggone big grudge....  Somebody we don’t know about is calc’latin’ on movin’ into this valley, Johnnie.  Somebody that’s goin’ to do a heap of shippin’—­and that means timber cuttin’....  And it must be settled or Castle wouldn’t come out and offer to buy.”

Johnnie and Mandy had followed the reasoning and nodded assent.