Pliny talked politics for the rest of the journey, and,
as usual, Pliny received directions to "talk up" certain matters to his
passengers. Pliny was one of Scattergood's main channels to public
opinion. At the junction Scattergood changed for the short ride to town,
and there he carried his ancient valise up to the Mountain House, where
he registered.

"Young feller named Nixon--Ovid Nixon--stoppin' here?" he asked the
clerk.

"Checked out Monday night."

"Um!... Monday night, eh? Expect him back? I was calc'latin' on meetin'
him here to-day."

"He usually gets in Saturday night.... You might ask Mr. Pillows, over
there by the cigar case. He and Nixon hang out together."

Scattergood scrutinized Mr. Pillows and did not like the appearance of
that young man; not that he looked especially vicious, but there was a
sort of useless, lazy, sponging look to him. Baines set him down as the
sort of young man who would play Kelly pool with money his mother earned
by doing laundry, and, in addition, catalogued him as a "saphead." He
acted accordingly.

Walking lightly across the lobby, he stopped just behind Pillows, and
then said, with startling sharpness, "Where's Ovid Nixon?"

The agility with which Mr. Pillows leaped into the air and descended,
facing Scattergood, did some little to raise him in the estimation of
Coldriver's first citizen. Nor did he pause to study Scattergood. One
might have said that he lit in mid-career, at the top of his speed, and
was out of the door before Scattergood could extend a pudgy hand to
snatch at him. Scattergood grinned.

"Figgered he'd be a mite skittish," he said to the girl behind the cigar
counter.

"I _thought_ something sneaking was going on," said the young woman, as
if to herself.

Scattergood gave her his attention. She had red hair, and his respect
for red hair was a notable characteristic. There was a freckle or two on
her nose, her eyes were steady, and her mouth was firm--but she was
pretty. Scattergood continued to regard her in silence, and she, not
disconcerted, studied him.

"You and me is goin' to eat dinner together this noon," he said,
presently.

"Business or pleasure?" Her rejoinder was tart.

"Why?"

"If it's business, we eat. If it's pleasure, you've stopped at the wrong
cigar counter."

"I knowed I was goin' to take to you," said Scattergood. "You got
capable hair.... This here was to be business."

"Twelve o'clock sharp, then," she said.

He