engrossed by himself and by interests "down the line."

It was Scattergood's opinion that Ovid was sound at bottom, but was
suffering from some sort of temporary attack, which would have its
run ... if no serious complication set in. Scattergood was watching for
symptoms of the complication.

Three weeks later Ovid took the "three-o'clock" down the line of a
Saturday afternoon and failed to return Sunday night. Indeed, he did not
appear Monday night, nor was there explanatory word from him. Mrs. Nixon
could give Scattergood no explanation, and she herself, in the midst of
a spell of neuralgia, was distracted.

Scattergood fumbled automatically for his shoe fastenings, but,
recalling in time that he was seated in a lady's parlor, restrained his
impulse to free his feet from restraint in order that he might clear his
thoughts by wriggling his toes.

"Likely," he said, "it's nothin' serious. Then, ag'in, you can't
tell.... You do two things, Mis' Nixon: go out to the farm and stay with
my wife--Mandy'll be glad to have you ... and keep your mouth shet."

"You'll find him, Mr. Baines?... You'll fetch him back to me?"

"If I figger he's wuth it," said Scattergood.

He went from Mrs. Nixon's to the bank, where the finance committee were
gathering to discuss the situation and to discover if Ovid's
disappearance were in any manner connected with the movable assets of
the institution. There were Deacon Pettybone, Sam Kettleman, the grocer,