"
When they were gone the checker players scrutinized each other, and then
with one accord scrambled to the door and stared out after Scattergood
and Mr. Spackles.
"I swanny!" said Old Man Bogle.
"What d'you figger Scattergood wanted of that ol' coot?" demanded Old
Man Peterson.
"Somethin' deep," hazarded Old Man Bogle. "I always did hold Spackles
was a brainy cuss. Hain't he 'most as good a checker player as I be?
What gits me, though, is how Scattergood come to pick him instid of me."
"Huh!..." grunted Old Man Peterson, and they resumed their game.
Scattergood walked along in silence for a few paces; then he regarded
Mr. Spackles appraisingly.
"Mr. Spackles," said he, deferentially, "I dunno when I come acrost a
man that holds his years like you do. Mind if I ask you jest how old you
be?"
"Sixty-six year," said Spackles.
"Wouldn't never 'a' b'lieved it," marveled Scattergood. "Wouldn't 'a'
set you down for a day more 'n fifty-five or six, not with them clear
eyes and them ruddy cheeks and the way you step out."
"Calc'late to be nigh as good as I ever was, Scattergood. J'ints creak
some, but what I got inside my head it don't never creak none to speak
of.
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