“Won’t you have a cup or a glass, my lads?” he inquired kindly.
“Oh, no, this is all right,” said Ralph.
“On a tramp, are you?” continued the farmer, evidently glad to have someone to talk to.
“In a way, yes,” answered Ralph, and then, a sudden idea struck him, he added: “By the way, you are an old resident here, I suppose?”
“Forty years or more.”
“Do you happen to remember anything of a wreck at the bridge at Wilmer about five years ago?”
“Let me see,” mused the man. “That was the time of the big freshet. Yes, I do remember it 201 faintly. It’s the freshet I remember most though. Enough timber floated by here to build a barn. See that old shed yonder?” and he pointed to a low structure. “Well, I built that out of timber I fished ashore. Lumber yard beyond Wilmer floated into the creek, and all of us along here got some of it.”
“What do you know about the wreck?” asked Ralph.
“Heard about it at the time, that’s all. Sort of connect the freshet with it. That was a great washout,” continued the farmer. “Even sheds and chicken coops floated by. And say, a box car, too.”
“Oh,” cried Zeph, with a start as if he was shot.