Two days later Scattergood appeared in the lobby of the Mansion House, in the county seat.  He scrutinized the register, and found, to his satisfaction, that a Mr. Bowman of Boston was occupying room 106.  Mr. Bowman had signed the hotel register in Coldriver as Mr. Baxter, also of Boston.  Scattergood seated himself in a chair and lighted one of the cigars which made his presence so undesirable in an inclosed space.  He appeared to be taking a nap.

Fifteen minutes after Scattergood began to nod, Sam Bangs, a politician with some strength in the rural districts, came down the stairs in company with a young man of prepossessing appearance, and clothing which did not strike the beholder as either too gaudy or too stylish.  Indeed the young man impressed the world as being a sober, conservative person in whose judgment it would be well to place confidence.

When Bangs saw Scattergood he stopped and whispered a moment to his companion, who nodded.  They approached Scattergood, and Bangs touched him on the shoulder.

“Mr. Baines,” he said, “I want you should meet my friend Mr. Bowman.  Mr. Bowman’s a broker.  Been buyin’ some stocks off’n him—­or calculate to.  I knowed you done consid’able investing so I took the liberty.”

Scattergood looked drowsily at the young man.  “Set,” he said.  “Set and have a cigar.”

The young Mr. Bowman accepted the cigar, but, after a glance at it, thrust it into his mouth unlighted.  The conversation began with national politics, swung to crops, and veered finally to the subject of investments.  Mr. Bowman, backed in his statements by Mr. Bangs, spoke to Scattergood of a certain mine whose stock could be had for a song, but whose riches in mineral, about to be reached by a certain shaft or drift or tunnel, were fabulous.  Scattergood was interested.  An appointment was made for further discussion.

The appointment was kept that evening, in the same lobby, and Mr. Bowman, while finding more than ordinary difficulty in convincing this fat country merchant, did eventually succeed in bringing him to a point of enthusiasm.

“Looks good,” said Scattergood.  “Calc’late a feller could make a killin’.  I’m a-goin’ into it hair, hide, and hoofs.  Figger me f’r not less ‘n five thousand dollars’ wuth of it.  Ought to make me fifty thousand if it makes a cent.”

“You’re conservative, Mr. Baines, conservative.”

“Always calculated to be, Mr. Bowman.”  He looked up as a middle-aged man with a drooping mustache approached.  “Howdy, John?  Still workin’ f’r the express company, be you?”

“Calc’late to, Mr. Baines.  Got charge of the local office.  ’Tain’t all pleasure, neither.  In a sight of trouble this minnit.”

“I want to know,” said Scattergood.  “Stand to lose my job,” said John, sadly.  “Dunno where I’ll find me another.”

“What you been doin’, eh?  What got you in bad?”

“One of them dummed gold shipments from the state bank.  Hadn’t ought to speak about it, ‘cause the comp’ny’s bein’ awful secret.  Hain’t lettin’ it out.”  He glanced apprehensively at Mr. Bowman.