Scattergood Baines sat on the piazza of his hardware store and twiddled his bare toes reflectively.  He was not thinking of to-day nor of to-morrow, but of days a score of years distant and of plans not to come to maturity for twenty years.  That was Scattergood’s way.  From his history, as it is to be gathered from the ancient gossips of Coldriver, one is forced to the conclusion that few of his acts were performed with reference to the immediate time.  If he set on foot some scheme, one learns to study it and to endeavor to see to what outcome it may lead ten years after its inception.  He looked always to the future, and more than once one may see where he has forgone immediate profit in order to derive that profit a hundredfold a generation later.

So, as Scattergood twiddled his reflective toes, he looked far ahead into the future of Coldriver Valley; he saw that valley as his own, developed as few mountain valleys are ever developed.  Its stage line, already his property, was replaced by a railroad.  The waters of its river and tributaries were dammed to give a cheap and constant power which should be connected in some way to this electricity of which he heard so much and about which he always desired to hear more.  He saw factories springing up.  In short, he saw his valley as the center of the state’s commercial life, and himself as the center of the valley.

Scattergood was well aware that there always will exist those who will clog the road of progress and attempt to stem any tide arising for the public good—­unless they can see for themselves an individual benefit.  He knew that it is not uncommon for those whose business is the common good—­such individuals as legislators and governors and judges—­to assume some such attitude, and he knew that it was regarded as expensive to win their favor.  He did not grow especially angry at this condition, but accepted it as a condition and studied to see what he could do about it—­for he knew he must do something about it.

He must take it into consideration, because one does not build railroads without legislative sanction, nor does one dam streams nor carry out wide commercial programs.  The consent of the people must be had, and the people had handed over their consent in trust to their elected representatives.  Scattergood saw at once that it was preferable to be one from whom governors and legislators and judges asked favors and looked to for guidance, than to be one to come a suppliant before those personages, and as soon as he saw that clearly he reached his determination.

“Calculate,” said he, to the shoes which he held in his hand, “that I got to git up and stir around in politics some.”

From that moment Scattergood scrutinized the bowl of politics to discover when and where he could dip in his spoon.