Crane retired to his office and devoted his head to the subject exclusively, and because Crane's head was that sort of head he devised an enterprise which, if Scattergood could be made to involve himself in it, would result in the extinction of that gentleman in the Coldriver Valley.
It was a week later that a gentleman, whose clothes and bearing guaranteed him to be a genuine denizen of the city, stopped at Scattergood's store. Scattergood was sitting, as usual, on the piazza, in his especially reinforced chair, laying in wait for somebody to whom he could sell a bit of hardware, no matter how small.
"Good morning," said the gentleman. "Is this Mr. Scattergood Baines?"
"It's Scattergood Baines, all right. Don't call to mind bein' christened Mister."
"My name is Blossom."
"Perty name," said Scattergood, unsmilingly.
"I wonder if I can have a little talk with you, Mr. Baines?"
"Havin' it, hain't you?"
Mr. Blossom smiled appreciatively, and sat down beside Scattergood. "I'm interested in the new Higgins's Bridge Pulp Company. You've heard of it, haven't you?"
"Some," said Scattergood. "Some."