Walking lightly across the lobby, he stopped just behind Pillows, and
then said, with startling sharpness, "Where's Ovid Nixon?"

The agility with which Mr. Pillows leaped into the air and descended,
facing Scattergood, did some little to raise him in the estimation of
Coldriver's first citizen. Nor did he pause to study Scattergood. One
might have said that he lit in mid-career, at the top of his speed, and
was out of the door before Scattergood could extend a pudgy hand to
snatch at him. Scattergood grinned.

"Figgered he'd be a mite skittish," he said to the girl behind the cigar
counter.

"I _thought_ something sneaking was going on," said the young woman, as
if to herself.

Scattergood gave her his attention. She had red hair, and his respect
for red hair was a notable characteristic. There was a freckle or two on
her nose, her eyes were steady, and her mouth was firm--but she was
pretty. Scattergood continued to regard her in silence, and she, not
disconcerted, studied him.

"You and me is goin' to eat dinner together this noon," he said,
presently.

"Business or pleasure?" Her rejoinder was tart.

"Why?"