Bangs, spoke to
Scattergood of a certain mine whose stock could be had for a song, but
whose riches in mineral, about to be reached by a certain shaft or drift
or tunnel, were fabulous. Scattergood was interested. An appointment was
made for further discussion.
The appointment was kept that evening, in the same lobby, and Mr.
Bowman, while finding more than ordinary difficulty in convincing this
fat country merchant, did eventually succeed in bringing him to a point
of enthusiasm.
"Looks good," said Scattergood. "Calc'late a feller could make a
killin'. I'm a-goin' into it hair, hide, and hoofs. Figger me f'r not
less 'n five thousand dollars' wuth of it. Ought to make me fifty
thousand if it makes a cent."
"You're conservative, Mr. Baines, conservative."
"Always calculated to be, Mr. Bowman." He looked up as a middle-aged man
with a drooping mustache approached. "Howdy, John? Still workin' f'r the
express company, be you?"
"Calc'late to, Mr. Baines. Got charge of the local office. 'Tain't all
pleasure, neither. In a sight of trouble this minnit."
"I want to know," said Scattergood. "Stand to lose my job," said John,
sadly.
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