"Lots."
"Um!... From lots of towns?... From Boston?"
"Yes."
"From Tupper Falls?"
"Some."
"From Coldriver?"
"If you want to know if I know Ovid Nixon, why don't you ask right out?"
Scattergood looked at her admiringly.
"I know him," she said.
"Like him?"
"He's a nice boy." Scattergood liked the way she said "nice." It
conveyed a fine shade of meaning, and he thought more of Ovid in
consequence. "But he's awful young--and green."
"Calc'late he is--calc'late he is."
"He needs somebody to look after him," she said, sharply.
"Thinkin' of undertakin' the work?... Favor undertakin' it?"
She looked at him a moment speculatively. "I might do worse. He'd be
decent and kind--and I've got brains. I could make something of him...."
"Um!... Ovid's up and made somethin' of himself."
"What?" She spoke quickly, sharply.
"A thief."
Scattergood glanced sidewise to study the effect of this curt
announcement, but her face was expressionless, rather too
expressionless.
"That's why you're looking for him?"
"Yes."
"To put him in jail?"
"What would _you_ calc'late on doin' if you was me?"
"Before I did anything," she said, slowly, "I'd make up my mind if he
was a thief, or if he just happened to take whatever it was he has
taken.
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