When he settled in his seat the stage sagged noticeably on that side,
for Scattergood added to his weight yearly as he added to his other
possessions. Mandy stood by, watching anxiously.
"Remember," said she, "I pinned your money in the right leg of your
pants, clost to the knee."
"Mandy," said he, confidentially, "I feel the lump of it. I hope I don't
have to git after it sudden. Dunno but I should have fetched along a
ferret to send up after it."
"Don't git friendly with no strangers--dressed-up ones, especial. And
never set down your valise. There's a white shirt and a collar and two
pairs of sox, and what not, in there. Make quite an object for some
sharper."
He nodded solemnly.
"If you git invited out to _his house_," she said, "it'll save you a
dollar hotel bill, anyhow, and be a heap sight safer."
"You're right, Mandy, as usual," he agreed. "G'by, Mandy. I calculate
you won't have no trouble mindin' the store."
"G'by, Scattergood," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "I'll be relieved to
see you gittin' back."
There seemed to be little sentiment in these, their words of parting,
but in reality it was an exceedingly sentimental passage for them.
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