"I--why, I think I could," she said.

"Is it a bargain?"

"What?"

"For, and in consideration of one dollar to you in hand paid, and the
further consideration of you undertakin' to keep an eye on him till
death do you part, I agree to keep him out of jail--and without nobody
knowin' he was ever anythin' but honest--and a dum fool."

She held out her hand and Scattergood took it.

"What's got Ovid into this here mess?"

"Bucket shop," she said.

"Um!... They been lettin' him make a mite of money--up to now, eh? So he
calc'lated on gittin' rich at one wallop. Kind of led him along, I
calc'late, till they got him to swaller hook, line, and sinker ... and
then they up and jerked him floppin' on to the bank.... Who owns this
here bucket shop?"

"Tim Peaney."

"Perty slick, is he?"

"Slick enough to take care of Ovid and sheep like him--but I can't help
thinking he's a sheep himself."