th all the fixin's. It
wasn't so much doin' that grandma wanted, it was knowin' she _could_ do
if she wanted to."

Scattergood's specially reinforced chair creaked as he strained forward
to pick up his shoepacs and draw them on. It required no small exertion,
and he straightened up, red of face and panting a trifle. He walked up
the street, crossed the bridge, and descended to the little room under
the barber shop where the checker or cribbage championship of the state
was decided daily. Two ancient citizens were playing checkers, while a
third stood over them, watching with that thrilled concentration with
which the ordinary person might watch an only son essaying to cross
Niagara Falls on a tight rope. Scattergood knew better than to interrupt
the game, so he stood by until, by a breath-taking triple jump, Old Man
Bogle sent his antagonist down to defeat. Then, and only then, did
Scattergood speak to the old gentleman who had been the spectator.

"Morning Mr. Spackles," he said.

"Mornin', Scattergood. See that last jump of Bogle's? I swanny if
'twan't about as clever a move as I see this year."

"Mr. Spackles," said Scattergood, "I come down here to find out could I
ask you some advice. You bein' experienced like you be, it 'peared to
me like you was the one man that could help me out."

"Um!..." grunted Mr. Spackles, his old blue eyes widening with the
distinction of the moment. "If I kin be of any service to you, I
calculate I'm willin'. 'Tain't often folks comes to me for advice any
more, or anythin' else, for that matter. Guess they figger I'm too old
to 'mount to anythin'."

"Feel like takin' a mite of a walk?"

"Who? Me? I'm skittisher'n a colt this mornin'. Bet I kin walk twenty
mile 'fore sundown."

They moved toward the door, but there Mr. Spackles paused to look back
grandly upon the checker players. "Sorry I can't linger to watch you,
boys," he said, loftily, "but they's important matters me and
Scattergood got to discuss. Seems like he's feelin' the need of sound
advice."

When they were gone the checker players scrutinized each other, and then
with one accord scrambled to the door and stared out after Scattergood
and Mr. Spackles.

"I swanny!" said Old Man Bogle.

"What d'you figger Scattergood wanted of that ol' coot?" demanded Old
Man Peterson.

"Somethin' deep," hazarded Old Man Bogle. "I always did hold Spackles
was a brainy cuss. Hain't he 'most as good a checker player as I be?
Wha