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.

"Where's Ovid?" he demanded again.

"Ovid ... Ovid who? I don't know any Ovid."