Peaney, I'm a-goin' to show you how
much obleeged I be. I'm a-goin' to git you a whole box of them cigars.
Pansy knows which ones. They come at a nickel apiece...."
Then ...then International Utilities touched eighty-one. Scattergood
slapped Peaney on the back. He laughed. He acted like a boy with a new
jackknife.
"It's all mine now, hain't it? Mine? Fair and square? It's my
money--every penny of it?"
"It's yours, Mr. Baines. And I congratulate you. I myself have made a
matter of fifty thousand dollars."
"Wisht I'd put up every cent I got.... But there'll be other chances,
won't they? I kin git in ag'in?"
"Of course. To-morrow. Possibly this afternoon."
"And I kin take this now?" Scattergood had his hands on the six thousand
dollars; was handling it greedily.
"It's yours," said Mr. Peaney.
"Calc'lated it was," said Scattergood. "Calc'lated it was.... Now
where's Ovid?"
Mr. Peaney stared. Something had happened suddenly to this countryman.
He was no longer fatuous, futile. His face was no longer foolish and
good-natured; it was; granite--it was the face of a man with force, and
the skill to use that force.
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