“Not at the present writin’.”

“At a price?”

“Wa-al, now—­”

“Say a profit of twenty dollars a share.”

“It’ll pay dividends on more ’n that figger,” said Scattergood, “which,” he added, “you know dum well.”

“Yes,” said Castle, “but for a quick turnover—­and I’m not figuring dividends altogether.”

“Kind of got a bone to pick with McKettrick, eh?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell you what I’ll do,” said Scattergood.  “I’ll sell you forty-nine per cent of the stock at a hunderd and twenty.  Stock to stand in my name till the road’s ready to operate, I don’t want it known I’ve been sellin’ any....  Shouldn’t be s’prised if you was able to pick up control one way and another—­but I hain’t goin’ to sell it to you.”

“I see,” said Castle, closing his eyes and squinting through a slit between the lids.  “It’s a deal, Mr. Baines,” he said, presently.

“Cash,” said Scattergood.

“You’ll find a certified check in the mail the day after I get the proper papers.”

Which transaction gave Scattergood another profit on the whole affair of nineteen thousand six hundred dollars—­this time a capitalization of the spite of man toward man.  It will be seen that McKettrick owned 49 per cent of the stock, Castle, 49 per cent, and Scattergood, 2 per cent.  He was now in a position to await developments.

They arrived as the railway was on the point of running its first train.  McKettrick brought them in person.  He burst upon Scattergood as Scattergood sat in front of his hardware store, and began to storm.

“What’s this?  What’s this?” he roared.  “What’s that railroad doing up the easterly side of our timber?  It’s waste money, lost money.  It’ll have to be rebuilt.  We’ve made all arrangements to cut off the westerly side.  Now we’ll have to swamp roads and log by team till the road can be moved.”

“Um!...” said Scattergood, “so that’s it, eh?  I was wonderin’ how it would come.”

“It was an inexcusable blunder, and it’ll cost you money.  You know how the railroad’s contract with the company reads.  Who gave you directions to run up the easterly side?”

“My engineer got ’em in your office.”

“Oh, your engineer.  He made the mistake, eh?  Then the mistake’s yours, all right, for every scrap of writing in our office has the word ‘westerly’ in it, plain and distinct.  It means tearing up those rails, grading a new line—­and you’ll pay for it.  I sha’n’t stand loss for your mistake.  It’ll cost you a hundred thousand dollars for that blunder.”

“Hain’t you discoverin’ it a mite late?”

“It was left wholly to you.”

“Seems like I noticed it,” said Scattergood.  “So all that work’s lost, eh?  Seems a pity, too.”

“You don’t seem to take it seriously.”

“You bet I do, and I calculate to look into it some.”

“It won’t do any good.  The mistake is plain.”