peculated
on the possibility of attaching Ovid to his own enterprises as he had
attached young Johnnie Bones, the lawyer. But latterly he had done a
deal of thinking. In the first place, there was no need for Mrs. Nixon
to continue to take in sewing when Ovid earned nine hundred a year; in
the second place, Ovid had been less engrossed in his work and more
engrossed by himself and by interests "down the line."

It was Scattergood's opinion that Ovid was sound at bottom, but was
suffering from some sort of temporary attack, which would have its
run ... if no serious complication set in. Scattergood was watching for
symptoms of the complication.

Three weeks later Ovid took the "three-o'clock" down the line of a
Saturday afternoon and failed to return Sunday night. Indeed, he did not
appear Monday night, nor was there explanatory word from him. Mrs. Nixon
could give Scattergood no explanation, and she herself, in the midst of
a spell of neuralgia, was distracted.

Scattergood fumbled automatically for his shoe fastenings, but,
recalling in time that he was seated in a lady's parlor, restrained his
impulse to free his feet from restraint in order that he might clear his
thoughts by wriggling his toes.

"Likely," he said, "it's nothin' serious. Then, ag'in, you can't
tell.... You do two things, Mis' Nixon: go out to the farm and stay with
my wife--Mandy'll be glad to have you ... and keep your mouth shet."

"You'll find him, Mr. Baines?... You'll fetch him back to me?"

"If I figger he's wuth it," said Scattergood.

He went from Mrs. Nixon's to the bank, where the finance committee were
gathering to discuss the situation and to discover if Ovid's
disappearance were in any manner connected with the movable assets of
the institution. There were Deacon Pettybone, Sam Kettleman, the grocer,
Lafe Atwell, Marvin Towne--Scattergood made up the full committee.

"How be you?" Scattergood said, as he sat in a chair which uttered its
protest at the burden.

"What d'you think?" Towne said. "Got any notions? Noticed anythin'
suspicious?"

"Not 'less it's that there dude suit of clothes," said Atwell, with some
acidity.

"You put him in here," said Kettleman to Scattergood.

"Calculate I did.... Hain't found no reason to regret it--not yit.
Looks to me like the fust move's to kind of go over the books and the
cash, hain't it?... You fellers tackle the books and I'll give the vault
an overhaulin'."

Scattergood already ha