"You know—you know I took three thousand dollars out of the vault."
"Vault don't show nothin' short," said Scattergood, waggling his head. "Counted it myself. Did look for a minute like they was three thousand short, but I kind of put that amount in, and then counted ag'in, and, sure enough, it was all there...."
Ovid stared, took a step forward. "You mean.... What do you mean, Mr. Baines?"
"I'm goin' to step outside of what used to be the door," said Scattergood, "and let Pansy do the explainin'.... What I do after that depends a heap on ... Pansy...."
Scattergood went outside and waited, his eyes on the stairs, but nobody offered to ascend. He could hear the conversation within, but it was only toward the end that it interested him.
"Ovid," said Pansy, "you've been hanging around my counter a good deal—and asking me to dinners, and to go driving on Sunday. What for?"
"Because—because I liked you awful well, Pansy, but now—now that I've done this—"
"If you hadn't done this? If you had made money instead of losing it?"
"I—oh, what's the use of talking about it? I wanted you should marry me, Pansy."
"But you don't want me any more?"