“Goin’ up Bottleneck way perty soon?” he asked.

“Not that I know of, Scattergood.”

“Nice drive.  Old Man Plumm’s got a farm there.”

“I know that, of course.”

“Don’t figger to visit him?”

“Why—­” said Norton, beginning to see that Scattergood had something in view—­“I could.”

“Wouldn’t try to buy the farm, would you?”

Norton hesitated.  “I—­I might.”

“Cash?”

“Why, I suppose so.”

“In your own name, eh?  Not in anybody else’s.”

“How much should I pay?”

“Folks always pays what they have to—­no more—­no less.  Immediate possession.  Always a good thing.  Got any money?”

“No.”

“Call at the bank.  They’ll give you what’s needed.  Ought to be back with the deed by night.  Fast hoss?”

“Fast enough.”

“G’-by, Norton.”

That night Norton returned with the deed and with Old Man Plumm, who took the morning stage for Connecticut and his youngest daughter.

“Hear folks is trespassin’ on your land, Norton.  Name of Crane and Keith.  Haulin’ logs acrost.  No contract with you?  No contract with Plumm?”

“No contract.”

“Hain’t got a right to do it, have they?”

“No.”

“If I owned that land I’d give ’em notice,” said Scattergood.  “G’-by, Norton.  Goin’to Boston to-day.  Set tight, Norton.  G’-by.”

Twenty-four hours later both Crane and Keith were in Coldriver, storming up to Lawyer Norton’s office.  Scattergood was in Boston and not visible.

“What does this mean?” blustered Crane, displaying to Norton the notice mailed at Scattergood’s direction.

“What it says.”

“You can’t stop us hauling to the river.”

Norton shrugged his shoulders.  “You can use the state road.”

“Fifteen miles!  You know it’s impossible.  We’ve got millions of feet on our rollways.  It’ll doze and spoil if we don’t get it out.”

“That’s your lookout.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s some kind of a hold-up.  What’ll you take for that farm?”

“Not for sale.”

“What will it cost us to haul across you?”

“You can’t haul across.  Not for money, marbles, or chalk.  Use the road.”

That was the best Crane & Keith could get out of Norton, though they besieged him for a week, though they consulted lawyers, though they made threats, and though they begged and promised.  Norton was a stubborn man.

During this week Scattergood had been in Boston.  His first visit had been to Linderman, president of the Atlantic Pulp and Paper Company.

“Have you an appointment with Mr. Linderman?” asked a clerk.

“Never heard of me.”

“Then I’m afraid you can’t see him.  He’s very busy.”

“That his office?  That door?”

“Yes.”

“He in?  Right in there?”