"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?"
"If it's business, we eat. If it's pleasure, you've stopped at the wrong cigar counter."
"I knowed I was goin' to take to you," said Scattergood. "You got capable hair.... This here was to be business."
"Twelve o'clock sharp, then," she said.
He looked at the clock. It lacked half an hour of noon.