She looked at him a moment speculatively. "I might do worse. He'd be decent and kind—and I've got brains. I could make something of him...."
"Um!... Ovid's up and made somethin' of himself."
"What?" She spoke quickly, sharply.
"A thief."
Scattergood glanced sidewise to study the effect of this curt announcement, but her face was expressionless, rather too expressionless.
"That's why you're looking for him?"
"Yes."
"To put him in jail?"
"What would you calc'late on doin' if you was me?"
"Before I did anything," she said, slowly, "I'd make up my mind if he was a thief, or if he just happened to take whatever it was he has taken.... I'd be sure he was bad. If I made up my mind he'd just been green and a fool—well, I'd see to it he never was that kind of a fool again.... But not by jailing him."