“Kind of slow, hain’t it?” Scattergood said, a worried look beginning to appear on his face.  “Maybe them folks hain’t goin’ to do what you said.”

Mr. Peaney went out into the back room, and presently the ticker began to click furiously.  International Utilities leaped a whole point.  In ten minutes they ascended a half point, and at every advance Scattergood figured his profit, and hesitated as to whether or not it would be best to close the transaction then and there, but Pansy cajoled him skillfully, making evident to Mr. Peaney the power of her influence over the old fellow.

Scattergood was the picture of the fatuous countryman.  He was childlike in his ignorance and in his delight.  He exclaimed, he slapped his thigh, he laughed aloud at each advance.  “It’s a-comin’.  Next time she h’ists, the money’s mine....  And ’tain’t been two hours.  What’ll the folks say to that, eh?  Me doin’ nothin’ but settin’ here and makin’ five thousand dollars in two hours....  Nothin’ short of a million’s goin’ to satisfy me—­and when I get that million, Mr. Peaney, I’m a-goin’ to show you how much obleeged I be.  I’m a-goin’ to git you a whole box of them cigars.  Pansy knows which ones.  They come at a nickel apiece....”

Then ...then International Utilities touched eighty-one.  Scattergood slapped Peaney on the back.  He laughed.  He acted like a boy with a new jackknife.

“It’s all mine now, hain’t it?  Mine?  Fair and square?  It’s my money—­every penny of it?”

“It’s yours, Mr. Baines.  And I congratulate you.  I myself have made a matter of fifty thousand dollars.”

“Wisht I’d put up every cent I got....  But there’ll be other chances, won’t they?  I kin git in ag’in?”

“Of course.  To-morrow.  Possibly this afternoon.”

“And I kin take this now?” Scattergood had his hands on the six thousand dollars; was handling it greedily.

“It’s yours,” said Mr. Peaney.

“Calc’lated it was,” said Scattergood.  “Calc’lated it was....  Now where’s Ovid?”

Mr. Peaney stared.  Something had happened suddenly to this countryman.  He was no longer fatuous, futile.  His face was no longer foolish and good-natured; it was; granite—­it was the face of a man with force, and the skill to use that force.

“Where’s Ovid?” he demanded again.

“Ovid ...  Ovid who?  I don’t know any Ovid.”

He became suddenly alarmed and blocked the way to the door.  Scattergood’s eyes twinkled.  “If I was you I wouldn’t git in the way to any extent.  Feelin’ the way I do I sh’u’dn’t be s’prised if I got a certain amount of satisfaction out of tramplin’ over you.”

“Hey, you put that money back ...”

“Mine, hain’t it?  Gained it lawful, didn’t I?”

He walked slowly toward the door, and Mr. Peaney, still barring the way, found himself sitting suddenly in an adjacent corner.  Scattergood walked calmly past and made for the back room.