He had seen in it a
subsidence of old grudges and the birth of universal better feeling. He
had set the idea in motion, and then, by methods of indirection, of
which he was a master, he had urged it on to fulfillment.
Scattergood went inside the store and leaned upon the counter, taking no
small pleasure in a mental inventory of his heterogeneous stock. He had
completed one side, and arrived at the rear, given over to stoves and
garden tools, when a customer entered. Scattergood turned.
"Mornin', Mattie," he said. "What kin I help ye to this time?"
"I--I need a tack hammer, Mr. Baines."
"Got three kinds: plain, with claws, and them patent ones that picks up
tacks by electricity. I hold by them and kin recommend 'em high."
"I'll take one, then," said Mattie; but after Scattergood wrapped it up
and gave her change for her dollar bill, she remained, hesitating,
uncertain, embarrassed.
"Was they suthin' besides a tack hammer you wanted, Mattie." Scattergood
asked, gently.
"I--No, nothing." Her courage had failed her, and she moved toward the
door.
"Mattie!"
She stopped.
"Jest a minute," said Scattergood. "Never walk off with suthin' on your
mind.
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